


Sherlock: This Is War

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, Humor, Kinks, M/M, Public Sex, Romance, Sex Games, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:23:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 79,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock didn’t much care that his brother was dating his DI. But then they went a step too far and did certain things in 221B that Sherlock would rather not think about. Now it's all out war with each couple trying to out-do the other. MH/GL v. SH/JW!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chair

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [This is war](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258927) by [IfTheyFitIShip (lenayuri)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenayuri/pseuds/IfTheyFitIShip)



> **Author's Note:** A conversation with DarkStarr7713 led me to write this. It's been posted on FF.Net for ages and I'm finally getting around to posting it here. It's not yet complete. Readers appear in the pool Sally Donovan and Mrs Hudson have going.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock Holmes really doesn’t care at all about his brother’s personal life. Yes, he enjoys getting gossip that he can blackmail Mycroft with but in all honesty, Sherlock doesn’t care who his older brother is seeing.

He didn’t even care when he learned that Mycroft was dating Gregory Lestrade. He didn’t care when they moved in together. He cared a little bit when they kissed in front of him, John, and half of Scotland Yard but only because that was truly horrifying.

What he did care about was Mycroft saying the word, ‘horny’, and the events that transpired.

It was a cold morning and Sherlock was curled up on the couch under a chequered blanket, glaring at his elder brother. Said brother was smirking in John’s armchair, twirling his umbrella and sipping a mug of tea John had made.

‘Why must you always argue with me, Sherlock?’

‘It’s my default setting,’ Sherlock muttered.

‘It seems to be your only setting.’

‘With you, yes,’ Sherlock said. ‘With people I like I can manage smart, sophisticated, charming, humorous, lovely–’

‘ _Lovely_?’ Mycroft cut him off. ‘Who are you lovely to?’

It took Sherlock a second to answer. ‘Mrs Hudson.’

‘I feel sorry for that woman,’ Mycroft said before taking a sip of tea.

Suddenly the door behind them opened and both brothers turned to see Gregory Lestrade. The DI smiled at Sherlock but grinned when he saw Mycroft.

‘Myc, hello.’

‘Myc,’ Sherlock snorted. He groaned when Greg leaned over John’s armchair to kiss Mycroft softly. ‘Please, not in my house.’

‘It’s a flat, not a house,’ Mycroft said before kissing Greg again.

‘Same thing,’ Sherlock snarled. He looked up when John entered. ‘John, they’re doing it again!’

‘Come on, boys, don’t upset the Sherlock,’ John said. Greg chuckled and drew back after another quick kiss. ‘Want some tea, Greg?’

‘Sounds good,’ Greg said and left his boyfriend and friend in the living room.

‘You two are disgusting.’

‘Yes, well we do try,’ Mycroft said pleasantly.

Sherlock groaned again. ‘Honestly, Mycroft, I don’t mind that you and Lestrade have decided to do... that, but please don’t do... _that_ in my home.’

‘So I cannot even kiss my boyfriend in your flat?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s horrible.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Mycroft said and grinned. ‘And you did say you can be lovely, Sherlock.’

‘So?’

‘I can be lovely too.’

‘No, you can act like a horny school-boy.’

Mycroft tutted as Greg and John came in. ‘Horny, Sherlock, _really_?’

Greg jumped, eyes going wide as the first word left his boyfriend’s mouth.

‘Greg?’ John murmured, startled by the look on the DI’s face. Suddenly Greg had rounded the chair and pulled Mycroft in for a passionate kiss, Mycroft moaning and reaching up to grab Greg by the back of the head.

‘What are you doing?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘Why did you... say that... _here_?’ Greg growled between kisses. ‘You know what... it does... to me...’

Neither man was paying attention to anything but each other. Not even Sherlock’s shouting could stop them. Finally the consulting detective stood and grabbed his coat and scarf.

‘John, let’s go.’

‘What?’ his boyfriend jumped.

‘I cannot stand to see this,’ Sherlock said. He scowled at his brother and friend before shuddering and leaving.

John stared at the door before saying, ‘Er, right.’ He put his mug on the table, passed the snogging couple, and followed Sherlock out.

As soon as they were alone, Mycroft dragged Greg to sit on him. He wasted no time in undoing the DI’s belt and shoving a hand down his pants.

‘Fuck, Myc,’ Greg groaned, thrusting into his partner’s hand.

‘Are we staying here or leaving?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Here,’ Greg said.

Mycroft smiled against his lips. ‘Very well.’

Greg started on Mycroft’s belt, the politician having to stand to get his trousers down. He fell back into John’s armchair and Greg straddled him, rutting against the taller man a few times before licking his hand. He made sure Mycroft was wet before hovering over his cock.

Mycroft pushed in slowly, groaning when he was fully inside Greg. Greg started moving, pulling himself up and down as Mycroft thrust into him. They exchanged sloppy kisses, tongues and lips crashing together in an aim to eat each other’s faces completely.

‘M-Myc,’ Greg groaned, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. ‘Fucking hell.’

‘Greg... God,’ Mycroft managed, grabbing Greg’s hips to help the man move.

Neither would ever tire of the heat, of the tightness, of the closeness they felt when having sex. It had taken them too long to realise they loved each other, even longer to tell the other that. But now they were together, had been for close to ten months, and loved each other with every fibre of their being.

‘Fuck,’ Greg swore again as Mycroft moved quicker, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in their ears. Greg knew the door was open, knew their shouts would draw Mrs Hudson eventually. He caught Mycroft’s lips again and said, ‘We’re gonna get caught soon.’

‘Maybe I like that,’ Mycroft said.

Greg chuckled and licked his way into Mycroft’s mouth, swearing again when Mycroft hit his prostate. ‘Son of a bitch!’

‘God,’ Mycroft groaned.

‘Swear for me,’ Greg demanded, fisting his own cock. ‘Come on, you know how much I like it.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Again.’

‘Shit!’

‘Come on, Myc.’

‘Greg!’ Mycroft shouted. He thrust up hard and came, spilling into his partner and groaning loudly. He continued to thrust, opening his eyes to watch Greg.

‘God, Mycroft!’ the DI moaned loudly and came, leaking all over his fist and Mycroft’s waistcoat. He stopped moving, leaning forward to pant against Mycroft’s shoulder. ‘Greg isn’t a swear,’ he murmured.

Mycroft chuckled and shifted to kiss his boyfriend. ‘Okay, what was that about?’ he asked.

‘It’s called sex, Myc,’ Greg grinned and Mycroft tutted. ‘It’s what two people do when they’re in love... or _horny_.’

‘Really, you wanted me because I said horny?’

Greg groaned. ‘Stop that.’

‘It’s just a word.’

‘From you it’s seductive.’

Mycroft laughed again. ‘I’ll file that away for future reference.’

Greg grinned and gave Mycroft another kiss before getting up. They’d made a mess and had to use all of John’s and Sherlock’s tissues. Mycroft’s waistcoat was a lost cause and he had to take it off.

Greg couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Mycroft’s waist, rubbing at his back through the expensive silk of his shirt.

‘Gregory, I have a meeting.’

‘And?’

Mycroft lifted his chin to place a soft kiss to Greg’s lips. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you too.’

‘Come on, we can have breakfast before I have to go.’

‘You always have to go.’

‘How about dinner, tonight?’ Mycroft asked. ‘Romantic, with candles and steak and maybe, just maybe, I’ll say that word again.’

Greg grinned and linked his right fingers through Mycroft’s left. ‘Sounds like a date.’

Mycroft gave him another kiss before pulling his boyfriend from the flat.

 

{oOo}

 

Sherlock and John got home to find the door open and Mycroft and Greg gone.

‘Thank God,’ Sherlock said and flopped onto the couch. John rolled his eyes and took Mycroft’s and Greg’s abandoned mugs. While he was in the kitchen, Sherlock turned his attention to his armchair, wondering if he should send Mycroft a lengthy and abusive text. His eyes roamed over the chair and suddenly it hit him.

Sherlock jumped, backing towards the windows with wide eyes. ‘No, no, no, they did _not_ ,’ he seethed. Sometimes seeing everything was a real pain in the fucking arse. ‘Those... those...’ Sherlock couldn’t think of an appropriate swear word that covered just how much he hated his brother and DI in that moment.

While he was mentally trying to burn his eyes out, John returned with a fresh mug of tea. He kicked his shoes off, placed his mug on the coffee table, and went to sit.

‘John, no!’

John had already fallen into his chair and looked up. ‘What?’

Sherlock shuddered. ‘D-Don’t sit there.’

‘Why?’ John raised an eyebrow when Sherlock failed to answer. ‘Sherlock, why not?’

‘Do you remember how Lestrade was acting when Mycroft said... that word?’

‘Yeah?’

Sherlock stared at him and suddenly it all clicked together. John leapt off the chair.

‘That’s disgusting, why would they do that! Oh my God, I’m gonna have to get rid of that chair! No, no, no, I can’t _believe_ I sat there!’

He went on ranting as Sherlock pointedly ignored the chair, not wanting to read what his brother and friend had done. Suddenly John’s phone went off but the doctor was too agitated to answer. Sherlock managed to get it out of his boyfriend’s jeans and read the message.

‘John?’

‘What?’ John shouted. Sherlock turned the phone around so John could read it.

 

_A new chair will be delivered by Friday. My apologies – MH_

 

John groaned. ‘Mother fucking bastards.’

‘Yes.’

‘We can’t let them get away with this.’

‘Yes, I agree.’

‘I mean, it’s great that they’re together, it took ’em long enough, but my _chair? My chair_!’

He was shouting again and Sherlock held up a hand. ‘John, calm down.’

‘No!’

‘All we have to do is retaliate.’

John paused, looked at his boyfriend. ‘Retaliate?’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

Sherlock grinned. ‘Lestrade takes his lunch break at 12. He leaves his office door open.’

Slowly, a grin spread across John’s face until he was grabbing his coat again. ‘Let’s go.’

‘We can have lunch afterwards,’ Sherlock said. ‘Because this, my dear John, is war.’


	2. Desk

John was feeling shifty as they walked into Scotland Yard. It was 12:10pm, Greg would have already left, but John still felt like they were going to get caught. Sherlock, of course, walked about like he owned the place and glared at anyone who looked at them.

‘Sherlock, don’t draw attention,’ John murmured.

‘Don’t be stupid, they know me.’

‘Yeah, and that’s why they’re looking.’

Sherlock rolled his eyes as they stepped out of the elevator and headed for Greg’s office. The door was shut but they could see that it was empty through the glass windows. John thanked God that there were blinds as they approached.

‘What are you doing here, Freak?’

John groaned. They were a metre from the door and Sally Donovan stood in their way.

‘Sally, good to see you, I see you broke up with Anderson,’ Sherlock replied.

John groaned again.

‘The Boss isn’t here, Freak,’ Sally said.

‘I don’t need to see him,’ Sherlock said coolly, ‘I just need to see his desk.’

‘Why?’

‘Important matters.’

‘Why?’

‘Important matters, I said.’

‘I heard you and I still ask why.’

John sighed. ‘Sherlock, maybe we can do this later.’

‘Later?’ Sherlock said, turning to glare at John. ‘No, John, we have to strike _now_ , while the iron is still hot, so to speak. I will not allow Lestrade and my brother to get away with this.’

‘Get away with what?’ Sally asked, eyebrows arched in curiosity.

‘They–’

‘Sherlock!’ John warned.

‘– had sex in John’s armchair.’

Ten people turned at the very loud groan John gave.

‘They what?’ Sally asked.

‘They had sex, in my flat, in John’s chair, without using protection,’ Sherlock said. ‘It is completely unacceptable behaviour and I demand vengeance.’

‘Okay...’ Sally said slowly. ‘Erm, how exactly are you going to get your revenge?’

‘By having sex on Lestrade’s desk.’

John rubbed his eyes.

‘Yes, ’course, because _that_ makes sense,’ Sally sighed.

‘It makes perfect sense,’ Sherlock said and stepped forward. Sally got in his way. ‘Please remove yourself from my path, Sergeant Donovan.’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

Sally raised an eyebrow. ‘You really think I’m gonna let you bugger the doctor on Lestrade’s desk?’

‘I was rather hoping John could bugger me but your way seems fine.’

‘Sherlock, for fuck’s sake,’ John groaned. ‘Let’s just go.’

‘Why should we?’

‘Sally’s not gonna... let’s just go.’

‘Hang on,’ Sally said, holding up her hands. ‘I didn’t say you couldn’t.’

Sherlock and John looked at her, the first raising an eyebrow. ‘But you’re in my way.’

‘Yeah, well... if I let you do this, I want a favour.’

‘What type of favour?’

‘Well...’ Sally said slowly before proceeding in a low voice, ‘as you so nicely put it, I broke up with Will.’

‘Will?’ Sherlock questioned.

‘Anderson,’ Sally said.

‘Oh, yes,’ Sherlock nodded and made a motion with his hands for her to continue.

‘Well, he royally fucked me around,’ Sally said. ‘So you get back at him and I’ll let you do whatever you want on Lestrade’s desk.’

Sherlock paused before saying, ‘What do I have to do to Anderson?’

‘Anything,’ Sally shrugged. ‘Steal his dinosaur toys, mess with his car, have sex on _his_ fucking desk for all I care, just do something.’

Sherlock grinned and turned to John. ‘Sex on Anderson’s desk, John, write it down.’

‘Why the hell would I write that down?’

‘Just remember it,’ Sherlock said. ‘Sally, we have a deal.’ He held out his hand and the two shook, John rolling his eyes.

‘Honestly, I’ve stepped into a mad house.’

‘And?’ Sherlock asked as he brushed past Donovan and entered the office. Sally gave John a big thumbs up as he closed and locked the door. ‘Right, John, get the blinds.’

John did, shaking his head as he let them all drop. Suddenly they were shrouded in darkness and John flicked the light on. Sherlock was by the desk, pushing Greg’s things aside with little fuss. When there was a clear space, he dropped his trousers and bent over the wood.

‘John?’

The sight of his partner half-naked had John tearing at his own pants. The fact that Sherlock was wearing his purple silk shirt (which was pure sex in John’s eyes) helped moved matters along and John was hard by the time he rounded the desk.

‘God, look at you,’ John breathed as he stared down at Sherlock’s glorious (and pale) arse.

‘Move along, John, we don’t have all day.’

John tisked. ‘Honestly, you’re so romantic.’

‘What’s romantic about fucking me in a DI’s office?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Get on with it.’

‘I wonder why I bother sometimes,’ John said as he licked his hand and made his cock wet.

‘Because I’m fabulous in bed– _oh_!’ He let out a rather loud moan as John pushed in, the doctor’s cock quickly swallowed by his heat.

‘Keep it down!’ John hissed, biting his lip, hard, to keep his own moan in.

‘So sorry but I tend to make a noise when someone has their cock in my arse!’ Sherlock hissed. He planted his forearms on the desk, fingers splayed. ‘Off you go, John.’

John chuckled and pulled out before going back in.

Sherlock was tight and hot and making little whimpering noises in the back of his throat. It was enough to make John grab the genius’ hips and thrust in, hard. Sherlock slammed into the desk and groaned loudly, dropping his head and biting his lip. The desk began rutting against the carpet and Sherlock moaned.

‘Keep... it... Jesus _fuck_!’

Sherlock managed a chuckle that sounded more like a moan. ‘John, ah, harder!’

Really, who was John to refuse? He angled himself to hit Sherlock’s prostate, knowing they couldn’t stretch this out forever; Greg wouldn’t be out to lunch long.

‘Fuck me, John!’

John didn’t care about keeping it down, not anymore. He was completely swallowed by his boyfriend again and again, Sherlock rocking back to meet his thrusts.

The office was filled with grunts, panting, the occasional, ‘Fuck, just there, John!’ and the more common, ‘Fucking hell, Sherlock!’. Skin slapped against skin, men moaned, and both got closer and closer to an orgasm.

John could feel it coiling in his gut as he grabbed Sherlock’s head with one hand. He twisted the raven curls in his fingers, Sherlock moaning and letting his head be pulled back.

‘Do you like being fucked over a desk?’ John asked.

‘Uh huh,’ Sherlock grunted.

‘You’re a slut, you know that?’

‘Yes, John.’

‘Harder?’

‘God, yes.’

If possible, John managed to fuck Sherlock harder, squeezing the consulting detective’s arse with one hand, the other tugging on his hair. Sherlock just swore and arched his back, eyes closed and lips red from biting.

‘Sherlock...’ John moaned. ‘Gonna...’

Before he could come, Sherlock was twisting away from him. John blinked out of his haze to see that Sherlock was now sitting on the desk, facing him. He grinned and John smiled back.

He grabbed his boyfriend’s hips and thrust back in, Sherlock’s arse now slipping across the desk. He moaned and pushed himself down as he tugged on his cock, head hitting the desk with a _thump_.

‘John!’ He was shouting now. ‘John, John, John!’

Sherlock climaxed all over his lovely purple shirt and John would have tutted if he wasn’t balls deep in his lover. All he could do was watch Sherlock come, the genius fisting a hand in his own hair as he writhed on the desk.

And then John was coming, leaking into his partner with a long moan. He thrust a few more times before slipping out and falling to sit in Greg’s chair. He giggled when come dribbled onto the chair beneath him.

‘Greg’s gonna hate that.’

Sherlock was still on his back and managed a grunt. John hunted through Greg’s drawers for some tissues and found some, as well as condoms and lube, in the bottom drawer under a stack of files.

‘Coulda used these a few minutes ago.’

‘But this was so much more fun,’ Sherlock said and sat up.

John cleaned them up and both men tucked themselves in and rearranged their clothes. Sherlock pulled John in for a good snog, lips hot and swollen from his own teeth.

John giggled when they broke apart, watching as Sherlock did up his jacket to hide the stains.

‘Shut up, John,’ Sherlock said but was grinning.

‘Love you too,’ John said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave John a quick peck on the lips. They exited the office and walked to the elevator. Sally smirked from her desk and Sherlock smiled back. She mouthed, " _Anderson_ " and Sherlock nodded. John gave her a wave as they climbed into the elevator.

‘I’ll text Mycroft in an hour,’ Sherlock said once the doors closed. ‘I want Lestrade at his desk for a while before Mycroft texts him.’

John just chuckled.

 

{oOo}

 

Greg had been sitting at his desk an hour-and-a-half before he got a text. He had his elbows on the wood, files strewn about and half-drunk coffee to his left. He paused to fish out his mobile and slid it open.

 

_Get away from your desk and chair, Sherlock and John have been naughty– M_

 

Slowly, Greg put down his pen, removed his elbows, and pushed back from the desk.

‘FUCK!’

He got a few looks but he didn’t care as he viciously stabbed at the buttons of his phone.

 

**You’re a fucking whore, Sherlock Holmes! - Greg**

 

The reply was more than a little snarky.

 

_You deserve it, Lestrade, or have you forgotten what you and my brother did in John’s chair? That was John’s FAVOURITE chair, Gregory. Tisk, tisk– SH_

 

Greg scowled.

 

**Fuck you!!!- Greg**

 

His phone pinged with another message as Greg stood and kicked his chair.

 

_New chair and desk ordered, will be delivered in an hour. I apologise, love– M_

 

**Not your fault. Sherlock needs to pay for this, John too - G**

 

_Of course, Gregory. Sherlock is rather fond of his table, don’t you think?– M_

 

Greg grinned.

 

**You are evil - G**

 

_Hmph. Sherlock really loves that table and he deserves it– M_

 

Greg chuckled.

 

**Just let me know where and when, my dear. You really are evil - G**

 

Greg grimaced at his desk and chair, wondering just where the hell he was going to do his paperwork. It turned into a grin, and slight giggle, when Mycroft texted back.

 

_This is war, Gregory– M_

 

**Yeah, what do they say? There are no friends in war... or on the track... field? Something like that - G**

 

_Exactly– M_

 

Greg grinned. This was going to be fun.


	3. Table

Sherlock received a text from Greg about a new case.

‘But why are we going to the Yard?’ John asked he stepped outside, pulling on his coat.

Sherlock shrugged. ‘Lestrade just said to come to Scotland Yard first.’ He held out his arm and a taxi stopped.

‘Magic cab powers,’ John grunted as he followed his boyfriend in.

As the cab pulled away, neither noticed the two men standing in the small cafe next to 221. As soon as the black cab was out of sight, Mycroft and Greg ducked out of Speedy’s and headed next door.

‘How long do you reckon?’ Greg asked as they made their way upstairs.

‘Half-an-hour there and back,’ Mycroft said. ‘Plenty of time.’

Greg grinned as they stepped into 221B, Greg locking the door this time. As soon as he turned around he hauled Mycroft in for a kiss, lips soft and tongue dancing into his mouth lightly.

‘We have a while, Gregory,’ Mycroft breathed against his boyfriend’s mouth. ‘No need to rush.’

Greg moaned and threaded his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, pulling him closer and arching his body into the politician.

They kissed softly, slowly, just standing in the middle off 221B pressed against each other. Mycroft didn’t mind getting his hair messy, not when it was Greg doing the messing. He wrapped his arms around the DI and pulled him in, trying to close the non-existent gap between their bodies.

Greg began rutting against him, erection straining through his trousers. Mycroft moaned into his mouth and began peppering kisses along Greg’s jaw before moving to suck on his neck. It was Greg’s turn to groan and he fisted his hands in Mycroft’s hair, mouth gaping as Mycroft licked at his neck.

‘No waiting, now!’ Greg demanded and pushed Mycroft towards the table. Mycroft bumped into it, letting out a huff of air that tickled Greg’s skin. He rubbed himself more vigorously against Mycroft’s pristine suit before reaching to undo his coat.

Mycroft let his dark blue coat fall and Greg worked on the buttons of his jacket, getting them free.

‘This is an expensive suit, Gregory,’ Mycroft murmured but made no moves to stop the DI from letting his jacket pool on the floor.

‘It looks real good on the floor,’ Greg grunted, Mycroft chuckling.

He got the waistcoat free too and threw it across the room, Mycroft laughing as his shirt was untucked. Suddenly Greg’s warm, calloused hands were undoing his belt and fly, shoving in to grab his erection roughly.

'Gregory,' Mycroft moaned as his cock was pulled free, Greg fisting his shaft and pulling. He leaned back to watch the DI work, Greg’s hands so warm and big and sure. He moaned loudly, head tipped back as Greg thumbed the head of his cock. ‘Gregory, Gregory, Gregory,’ he mumbled like a mantra.

Greg smiled and pushed forward to kiss Mycroft again, one of the politician’s hands grabbing the back of his head and holding him place. Mycroft began pushing into his hand, fucking Greg’s large fingers in an attempt to pull his orgasm closer.

‘Ah, ah, none of that,’ Greg whispered, Mycroft groaning. ‘I want you to come all over that table.’

‘You are dirty.’

‘This was your idea,’ Greg reminded him.

‘I think it was a good one.’

Greg grinned and pulled back before roughly making Mycroft turn. He bent the politician over the desk and pulled down Mycroft’s trousers before looking around. ‘Where do you think they keep the lube?’

‘Bedroom, top drawer,’ Mycroft said, fiddling with a file Sherlock had on the table. He read a few snippets and made a note as Greg went to fetch the lubricant, grinning when he imagined Sherlock’s reaction. Well, the answer _was_ obvious, it was the nanny!

He heard Greg return and the unmistakable pop of a cap. He shivered in anticipation and squirmed when Greg laid a warm hand on his hip.

‘Ready?’

‘Mm,’ Mycroft nodded.

Slowly, one of Greg’s fingers entered him and Mycroft moaned, relaxing his muscles so Greg could push all the way in. He started slowly, taking his time to thrust in and out, enjoying the soft moans of enjoyment Mycroft was making.

He pushed another finger in, Mycroft shaking as he pushed himself back. He bent lower over the table, forehead pressed to the hard wood as Greg fucked him with his fingers.

‘Gregory... please...’

‘Yeah?’

‘I need you.’

‘You need me to what?’

‘To fuck me so hard I come all over this rather lovely table.’

Greg chuckled and pulled his fingers out. ‘How is it you can be polite _and_ dirty in the same sentence?’ he asked as he squeezed lube onto his erection, shaking his hips a bit to make his trousers pool around his ankles.

‘It’s a gift,’ Mycroft muttered.

Greg put a steadying hand on his boyfriend’s back before grabbing his cock. He teased Mycroft a bit, sliding his shaft up and between the politician’s cheeks. Mycroft moaned and tried to push back but Greg kept him in place, grinning when Mycroft swore.

‘Greg, please.’

‘Please what?’

‘Please fuck me.’

‘Please fuck me what?’

‘Please fuck me... now?’

‘Please fuck me now what?’

‘Gregory!’

Greg pushed in, Mycroft shouting and squirming and moaning all at the same time. Greg stopped when he was fully inside, leaning forward to press kisses to Mycroft’s neck. ‘Love you.’

‘Fuck you.’

Greg chuckled. ‘No, I think I’ll fuck you.’

‘Oh, really?’ Mycroft said sarcastically. ‘I’d be ever so grateful.’

‘Smart arse.’

‘Arsehole.’

‘Idiot.’

‘Dickhead.’

‘...ponce.’

‘Ponce?’ Mycroft demanded, shifting to stand. Greg pushed him back down and pulled out before thrusting in, hard. Mycroft moaned and scratched at the table, a string of curse words leaving his mouth as Greg began to fuck him.

‘Now there’s that dirty mouth I love.’

‘Fuck... you... Greg... ory...’ Mycroft muttered, biting his lip to stop shouting and drawing the unwanted attention of Mrs Hudson.

‘Dirty, dirty boy,’ Greg teased.

‘Filthy, filthy man,’ Mycroft retorted.

‘A filthy man who’s fucking you,’ Greg smiled and pushed in again slowly.

‘A filthy man who’ll get a slap if he doesn’t fuck me faster,’ Mycroft grunted.

‘Oh, how you hurt me,’ Greg grinned and slapped Mycroft’s arse.

‘Oi!’

‘Oh my God, you saying _oi_ is delicious.’

‘Shut up,’ Mycroft groaned.

‘I thought you liked me being loud.’

‘Honestly, do you _want_ me to leave?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Gregory–’

Greg began fucking him quickly, Mycroft’s words mumbled and incomprehensible. He started stroking his shaft as Greg fucked him, moaning loudly and pushing himself back.

‘I’ll never get... tired... of this...’ Greg managed to grunt, angling himself to hit Mycroft’s prostate.

‘Son of a _fuck_ ,’ Mycroft groaned.

‘Oh God, I love you,’ Greg grinned.

‘Love you too,’ Mycroft moaned and pushed himself back again.

 

{oOo}

 

‘What are you doing here?’ Sally Donovan asked.

‘Lestrade texted, he has a case,’ Sherlock said, unwinding his scarf.

Sally raised her eyebrows. ‘Lestrade left an hour ago; he has the night off.’

Sherlock froze. ‘What?’

‘Your brother picked him up, I was out front with– where are you going?’ Sally demanded.

Sherlock didn’t bother answering, instead stepping into the elevator and stabbing at the button viciously.

‘Sherlock?’ John questioned.

‘My brother and his _stupid_ boyfriend,’ the consulting detective snarled.

‘What?’

‘John, this is a revenge attack for what we did on Lestrade’s desk.’

‘How do you know?’ John asked as the elevator whisked them down.

‘Why else would Lestrade text me to meet him here and then not be here?’

‘Er... he forgot?’ John tried.

Sherlock tutted. ‘John, he texted half-an-hour ago, he left here thirty minutes before that. Use your head!’

John sighed and rubbed his eyes as he followed a furious Sherlock from the elevator. ‘I wonder what they’re doing it on now,’ he wondered as they headed outside.

 

{oOo}

 

Mycroft moaned loudly as his stomach slammed into the desk. He gripped the edges tightly, head bent as Greg pounded into him.

‘Greg... fuck... there!’

Greg began hitting his prostate in earnest, too far gone to draw this out. He moaned a string of cusses and forced himself into Mycroft harder, the table scraping against the floorboards loudly.

‘Myc... fuck... gonna...’ Greg pulled out before he could come and Mycroft started shouting.

‘What the fuck are you doing, I was almost there!’

Greg shut him up with a sloppy, dirty kiss before pulling back. ‘Get on the table.’

Mycroft blinked, hair messy, face flushed. ‘What?’

‘On the table, on your knees.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he realised what Greg was saying. ‘Greg, I’m not a young man.’

‘You’ll be fine and this table is just low enough for what I have planned.’

‘Greg–’

‘You are getting on that table and coming all over that table whether you like it or not, got it?’ Greg raised an eyebrow to make himself clear and Mycroft groaned.

‘Fine, fine,’ he muttered and started pushing things aside.

When the table top was clear, Greg helped Mycroft climb up. The politician shifted a bit before leaning back on his legs, arse directly in line with Greg’s crotch. He grunted a bit before stopping, leaning on his hands and looking back at Greg.

‘This is undignified.’

‘But so hot.’

‘Undignified.’

‘Hot.’

‘Gregory–’ He swore when Greg pushed in, quickly working his way back to the pace he had before. Mycroft moaned and rutted back as best he could, clawing at the wood beneath his fingers as Greg fucked him.

Mycroft wasn’t going to last long, not with Greg fucking him, and his cock rubbing against his legs, _and_ Greg scratching at his back. He managed another minute before he was climaxing all over his legs and the table. He moaned and milked his cock, stroking softly and slowly.

Mycroft tightened around his boyfriend and Greg came, spilling into Mycroft and pulling him closer. Both men panted and moaned, Greg leaning against Mycroft as he tried to catch his breath.

Greg pulled out wetly before helping Mycroft from the table. He nearly collapsed and groaned, stretching his legs as he leaned against the mantel, Greg going to get a towel.

‘You’ve ruined me.’

‘I’d hope so,’ Greg grinned as he cleaned up. He didn’t want to wipe the table down but figured Sherlock would be pissed off enough. Instead he left the towel on the floor and grinned at Mycroft as they re-dressed.

‘I love you,’ Mycroft murmured, drawing Greg in for a soft kiss.

‘Love you too,’ Greg said. ‘Now let’s go before your brother gets home.’

Mycroft smiled and led Greg from the flat.

 

{oOo}

 

Sherlock was less then amused and scowled as he stood in the doorway. His eyes quickly scanned the flat and settled on the towel.

‘Fuck them!’ he shouted.

John knew Sherlock was really angry when he swore. He peered around him and saw the towel. ‘Oh dear God. Where did they–’

‘Table, John, we need a new table!’ Sherlock shouted and walked over, peering down at his files. ‘And he solved my case! Of all the fucking nerve!’

John chuckled as he glanced at the paperwork. ‘Well... was it obvious?’

‘Don’t test me, John.’

John rolled his eyes. ‘Tea?’

‘Tea? _Tea_? How can you be thinking about tea at a time like this?’

‘I always think about tea,’ John said.

‘We need to retaliate,’ Sherlock murmured and fell to sit on the couch. ‘We cannot let them win, John.’

‘Why is it a competition?’ John asked from the kitchen.

‘It’s always a competition with Mycroft.’

John sighed. ‘It doesn’t have to be, you know. We could just end this now.’

Sherlock turned to glare at him. ‘And let Mycroft _win_? No. No, no, no, I cannot let that happen. No, John, we _must_ strike back!’

‘Of course we must,’ John muttered as he boiled the kettle. ‘So, who’s moving the towel?’

 

{oOo}

 

_Well played, brother– S_

 

Mycroft smirked. He was lazing on the couch with Greg, the DI nestled into him with a bowl of ice cream.

‘Sherlock?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Mycroft answered, texting back with one hand.

 

**You started this, brother– M**

 

_No, YOU started it– S_

 

**All I did was ravish my boyfriend– M**

 

_On John’s CHAIR! HIS CHAIR, MYCROFT!– S_

 

Mycroft tutted. ‘Honestly, what is it with Sherlock and John’s armchair? I had another one delivered.’

‘He’s probably more upset about the fact that we had sex in the chair,’ Greg said, licking ice cream from his spoon. Mycroft just stared at him, at his lips, and felt heat pool in his crotch.

 

**You can end this now by apologising, brother– M**

 

_Me? Why should I apologise? YOU APOLOGISE!– S_

 

**Never– M**

 

‘Bed?’ Mycroft asked, shifting to stand.

Greg nodded and stood, going into the kitchen and putting his bowl in the sink. Mycroft drew him in for a kiss as his BlackBerry buzzed.

‘Ignore it,’ Greg mumbled but Mycroft checked it anyway.

 

_This means war– S_

 

Mycroft smirked and sent one last text before hauling Greg into their bedroom.


	4. Club

Unknown to most of London, there is a very secret, very exclusive, and very gay club located in the heart of the city (the gay part was Sherlock’s rambling, John wasn’t really listening by then).

Mycroft owned this establishment, had inherited it from his and Sherlock’s father. It was a club John recognised as soon as he stepped from the taxi.

‘Oh, you can _not_ be serious,’ John said as he looked up at the Diogenes Club.

‘Yes I can.’

John turned to stare at his partner. ‘Sherlock, we... we can’t do it _here_.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s... you have to be silent!’

‘Not in Mycroft’s office or one of the strangers rooms... though I think the office will do.’

John groaned as he followed Sherlock to the door. ‘How are we even going to get in?’

Once inside, Sherlock flashed a card (one that actually had _his_ name on it, not Mycroft’s) and they were led through to a long hallway. There they were left alone and Sherlock, with a smile on his face, pressed a finger to his lips before leading John through the building.

John followed along in silence, catching glimpses of men sitting in leather-backed chairs sipping scotch, wine and champagne. They were all either reading the paper, browsing their phones, or tapping on laptops.

Finally Sherlock came to a stop before a large wooden door and produced another card, this one with “Mycroft Holmes” stamped across the front.

John rolled his eyes, Sherlock smirking as he swiped the card through a keypad and typed something in quickly. The pad turned green and the door opened with a heavy clunk.

As soon as they were inside, door shut, Sherlock said, ‘Honestly, his password is “Johnathan”.’

John stared at him, not getting it.

Sherlock tutted. ‘Johnathan is Lestrade’s middle name.’

‘Oh, right,’ John nodded and turned to look at the room. It was large, as big as their living room back at 221B. There was a desk directly before John, large, wooden, with a green top, a pen holder filled with all manner of writing utensils, a closed laptop, and a number of files. The leather-backed chair was comfortable looking, framed either side by big green plants.

The walls had a few framed pictures, including one of the Queen, as well as some flowers and weird shapes John couldn’t make out. There were bookcases in each corner, a flat-screen TV on the right wall, and a large white board on the left covered in what looked like French.

John whistled as he turned around, Sherlock moving straight for the files.

‘Boring,’ he declared a few minutes later.

‘Try the laptop.’

Sherlock tutted again. ‘John, my brother would not leave anything important on a laptop here, do use your head.’ He fell to sit in the chair and put his legs up, shoes resting on the table. He grinned and looked John over carefully, eyes taking in the doctor completely.

John smirked and put his hands on his hips. ‘See something you like?’

‘I see everything, John,’ Sherlock said softly before smiling, ‘and I like everything I see right now.’

John chuckled and crossed the room. ‘So...’ he said and leaned against the desk. ‘What are we doing here?’

Sherlock smirked. ‘We are here to have sex.’

‘Oh, right, of course we are, mm... _why_?’

‘To get back at my brother and Gregory.’

John groaned. ‘Sherlock, can’t we just leave it? When is this going to end? If we have sex here, Mycroft and Greg will have sex somewhere else we don’t want them to. And then you’ll want to do something equally dirty somewhere Mycroft doesn’t want you to, and then he and Greg will have sex in our fridge or something, and us in their shower, and... Sherlock, do you get what I’m saying?’

Sherlock was silent 4.6 seconds before asking, ‘How could they have sex in our fridge?’

John groaned.

‘Honestly, John, I’m curious because it is physically impossible. Are they cutting their limbs off before getting in?’

‘Sherlock.’

‘Or their heads? That would be much better; Mycroft with the inability to speak would really be excellent.’

‘Sherlock, _please_.’

‘Although how they could have sex without heads... well, it’s more impossible then without limbs–’

‘Sherlock!’

Sherlock smirked and leaned back, fingers coming together beneath his chin. ‘I want you to fuck me in this office, John. On the chair, over the desk, against the wall, on the floor...’ he trailed off and smiled, ‘ _everywhere_.’

John swallowed, trying very hard to push down his arousal. ‘Sherlock, be serious.’

‘I am serious, John,’ his partner replied. ‘I’m serious about wanting you to fuck me everywhere in this office.’

‘We... we can’t!’

‘Why not?’

‘This is Mycroft’s office!’

‘Exactly.’

John groaned, rubbed a hand against his eyes. ‘Sherlock, this... I mean, you stole his card to get in!’

‘He didn’t make it very hard, John,’ Sherlock tutted. ‘And his password?’ He rolled his eyes again.

‘Sherlock...’

Sherlock stood suddenly and ran a hand down his front, cupping himself through his trousers every third stroke. John gulped. ‘John?’

‘Huh?’ the doctor murmured, tearing his eyes from Sherlock’s crotch. ‘What?’

Sherlock smirked. ‘Are you staring at me, John?’

‘Bit hard not to when your hands are all... rubby.’

‘‘Rubby’?’ Sherlock chuckled. ‘That’s not a word.’

‘Well you’re doing it,’ John huffed, eyes once more falling below his partner’s belt.

Slowly, Sherlock slipped from his shoes before taking his belt in both hands. John was practically drooling as Sherlock slipped the leather free before undoing his trousers. He let them pool on the floor and stepped from the quickly, now clad in only dark purple boxers.

‘Oh God, you’re wearing _them_.’

Sherlock smiled. ‘They match my purple shirt you’re so fond of.

‘Uh... uh huh,’ John managed. Not the most intelligent thing he had ever said, no, but Sherlock was just standing there... in purple silk _boxers_!

Slowly, Sherlock pulled down his boxers until he was just standing there, in Mycroft’s office, half-naked and hard.

‘Jesus,’ John groaned.

‘Mm?’ Sherlock murmured, stroking his cock. ‘John, I think I need some help here.’

‘Is... is that so?’ John said, wetting his lips.

‘Yes,’ Sherlock nodded, back to stroking his erection. ‘Please do help me.’

John suddenly didn’t care that they were in Mycroft’s office, or about this stupid war he and Sherlock had going. He just needed to wrap his lips around Sherlock’s cock right then and there.

He sank to his knees on the plush carpet, pulling Sherlock forward by the hips. Sherlock moaned as John’s tongue trailed along his cock, lapping at the underside before licking the head. Sherlock fisted his hands in John’s hair, drawing him closer.

‘John... please...’

John continued to lick and rub his lips up and down Sherlock’s shaft, kissing at his testicles before sucking one into his mouth. He palmed the hot flesh as he did, shuffling forward on his knees and making Sherlock back into the desk.

Sherlock leaned against the wood heavily as John finally took him in his mouth, tongue twirling around the head and licking pre-come away. He moaned as he did, bobbing up and down as he took more and more of Sherlock into his mouth.

‘John,’ Sherlock moaned, pulling his boyfriend closer and closer, burying his cock down John’s throat. The doctor choked but adjusted his sucking accordingly, breathing through his nose as he sucked back on his boyfriend.

John would never tire of the feel of Sherlock’s cock in his mouth; shaft hot and heavy as it slid against his tongue, length stretching his mouth, pre-come trickling down his throat.

‘I’m... John, I c-can’t...’ he trailed off and thrust harder, now fucking John’s mouth with abandon. John just went with it, closing his eyes and letting himself focus completely on Sherlock’s cock, on his grunts and groans and fingers tight in his hair.

Sherlock came suddenly, emptying himself down John’s throat, the doctor sucking it all down and licking him clean.

Sherlock slumped against the desk, breathing heavily and blinking through his orgasmic haze. John pulled himself up and grabbed Sherlock, kissing him quickly and heatedly.

‘Enjoy yourself?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Sherlock nodded.

‘Well I’m not done yet.’ The commanding tone had Sherlock shivering, more so when he was turned and pushed into the desk. ‘I’m gonna fuck you until you come again,’ John whispered into Sherlock’s ear, the consulting detective moaning. ‘Do you think Mycroft has lube in his desk?’

‘B-bottom drawer,’ Sherlock said.

John grinned and leaned down to open the bottom drawer, making sure to brush his arm against Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock moaned as John stood, finding a bottle of lube and some other... things he would very much like to ignore. He popped the cap and slathered his cock, not caring when gel dripped onto the floor.

He positioned himself at Sherlock’s entrance, one hand on his hip, the other on the desk. He pushed in quickly, Sherlock cursing and thrusting back. John set up a quick rhythm, swallowed again and again by his boyfriend’s tight hole.

‘Fuck, Sherlock,’ he moaned, skin slapping against skin loudly as he fucked Sherlock hard.

‘John... God, John, John, _John_.’

John grunted and held Sherlock’s hips tightly, thrusting in and out of his tight passage. Sherlock just cussed and bent over the desk, rutting against John as the doctor hit his prostate.

‘J-John...’ he murmured a minute later.

John knew that voice; Sherlock was close to getting hard again. He pulled Sherlock back and the consulting detective yelped as he tipped back. John fell to sit in Mycroft’s chair, hauling Sherlock atop him without slipping out.

Sherlock began pulling himself up and down, fucking himself on John’s cock. He moaned and shuddered, gripping his own thighs as John pushed up.

They continued for a few minutes before Sherlock’s groans grew louder, more needy. He began fisting his half-hard cock, trying to push himself towards another orgasm.

‘Not yet, love,’ John said between grunts, forcing his cock into Sherlock over and over again. ‘I still gotta fuck you... against the wall... the floor... you can come... then... hear me?’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes as John hit his prostate again. ‘Yes, John, yes!’

John dug his fingers into Sherlock’s hips, knowing he’d leave bruises and not caring in the slightest. He buried his face in Sherlock’s back, kissing at his jacket before moving to pull it off. Sherlock let him, groaning when John finally sank his teeth into his shoulder.

John tasted silk and warmth and pulled the collar aside to get at the sweet skin beneath. He kissed along Sherlock’s neck and shoulder before licking at the pale skin, loving the loud moans Sherlock was now making.

‘J-John... I... s-soon...’

John pushed up immediately, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist and pulling him towards the wall. Sherlock went with him, groaning when John forced him against the wall, never once leaving Sherlock’s tight hole.

Sherlock pulled his legs apart and placed both hands on the wall, pushing his arse into John as the doctor continued to fuck him.

‘Fuck, John, more!’ he begged, eyes shut, lips pulled wide in a silent groan.

John just fucked him harder, spreading Sherlock’s cheeks to watch his cock disappear into his boyfriend’s body. ‘God, you have no idea how fucking amazing you look.’

‘Uhh,’ Sherlock moaned, dropping his head and rolling his hips to meet each of John’s thrusts.

‘So fucking amazing, just standing there, begging for my cock,’ John continued. He shifted to grab Sherlock’s prick, stroking in long, slow movements, Sherlock groaning louder. ‘Right here, in a public office, you filthy little man.’

‘N-Not l-little,’ Sherlock stuttered, swearing loudly when John began thrusting to hit his prostate.

‘What was that?’ John asked, panting at the strain of continuing his pace.

‘I’m l-little,’ Sherlock managed. ‘Whatever you s-say...’

‘How close are you, Sherlock?’ John hissed. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

‘No,’ Sherlock shook his head.

‘Sorry?’

‘No!’ Sherlock shouted. ‘No, please, no! Keep g-going, John, _please_!’

John grinned, knowing Sherlock was close when he started saying _please_. He withdrew completely and Sherlock groaned, turning to glare at him with lust-blown eyes.

John got to his knees, pulling Sherlock down. He kissed him hard and fast, Sherlock grunting into his mouth as John forced him onto his back. He pushed in swiftly, Sherlock shouting cusses as John wrapped a warm hand around his cock.

‘I want you to come again,’ John demanded. ‘All over that pretty shirt of yours. Do it, Sherlock.’

Sherlock groaned.

‘I’m waiting,’ John said and snapped his hips quickly.

‘J-John.’

‘Now!’

A few more tugs, a few quick thrusts, and Sherlock was spilling across his silk shirt, swearing and arching his back off the floor. He tightened around John, pulling the doctor over the edge and into his own climax. He grunted and his thrusts faltered as he leaked into Sherlock, letting his head drop and swearing.

Finally John managed to pull out and rolled onto his back, panting heavily and staring at the ceiling. He was feeling thoroughly wiped after fucking Sherlock in four different positions. He turned his head to look at Sherlock.

‘Hey.’

‘Mm?’ Sherlock mumbled softly.

‘You okay?’

‘Y-yeah,’ Sherlock swallowed before nodding. ‘Fine.’

John smiled. ‘Did I tire you out?’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock admitted.

With a chuckle, John drew Sherlock in for a soft kiss, Sherlock’s lips swollen from chomping down with his own teeth.

‘I love you,’ John said, ‘even with this stupid competition you’ve created.’

Sherlock smiled. ‘I love you too, John. And thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For fucking me on the desk, the chair, the floor, the wa–’ He was cut off when John kissed him again and decided that that was far better then talking.

 

{oOo}

 

Mycroft and Greg were about to all the waiter over to order when Mycroft’s BlackBerry buzzed. Greg groaned and Mycroft shot him an apologetic look before pulling out his phone to find a new text.

 

_Johnathan– S_

 

Mycroft swore and leaned back in his seat.

‘Myc?’ Greg asked, looking across the table.

Mycroft looked up at him before turning his BlackBerry so Greg could read the message.

‘Johnathan?’

‘Your middle name.’

Greg smiled. ‘Yeah, I know. But why is Sherlock texting it to you?’

Mycroft scowled. ‘Because clearly he stole my keycard, deduced my password, got into my office at the Diogenes club, and had sex with John there.’

Greg paused, eyes running over Mycroft. Suddenly he said, ‘Your password’s my middle name?’

‘ _That’s_ what you’re focusing on?’

Greg smiled. ‘It’s sweet.’

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft scowled.

‘It is, very sweet,’ Greg said and grabbed Mycroft’s hand, rubbing a thumb along his knuckles. ‘Seriously. What else do you use my name for? Missile launch codes? Doomsday timers? Huh, come on, tell us.’

Mycroft tutted but there was a smile pulling at his lips. ‘Greg, be serious.’

‘I am. If the world’s gonna end because of you I at least wanna try and save the entire earth.’

‘I’ll get Sherlock back for this,’ Mycroft said, already contemplating revenge.

Greg just smiled and said, ‘They’d build massive statues of me.’

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft sighed.

‘Ten feet tall!’

Mycroft chuckled and Greg grinned.


	5. Surgery

Unfortunately, Sherlock didn’t have an office and Mycroft and Greg had already had relations on the table he used at 221B.

‘Relations?’ Greg said as he shifted in his seat, leaning over Mycroft to look out the window. They were sitting in Greg’s patrol car, an unmarked silver thing (unless his life was in danger or he thought he was being followed, Mycroft didn’t think it important to learn what model a car was), because any expensive, black and window-tinted car John saw would make him realise Mycroft was close by.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft tutted, smiling as his boyfriend turned to look at him.

Greg grinned and gave him a quick kiss. ‘We fucked on that table, Mycroft. Say it.’

‘No.’

‘Come on,’ Greg whined.

‘Never.’

He sighed and leaned back in his own seat. ‘Okay, fine. We had _relations_ on that table.’ Mycroft smiled. ‘So what are we doing here?’

‘We are getting back at my brother and his partner.’

‘Right,’ Greg said, ‘by doing _what_ , exactly?’

‘We are going to have sex in John’s office.’

Greg smiled. ‘Sex? My, my, don’t _you_ have a filthy mouth.’

Mycroft sighed. ‘Gregory.’

‘What? You said sex, that’s better than _relations_.’

‘You make it immensely easy to be cross with you.’

‘Ooh, cross,’ Greg giggled when Mycroft folded his arms. ‘Babe, I’m sorry, you know I’m just teasing.’

Mycroft turned to look at Greg completely.

‘What?’

‘Babe?’ Mycroft said.

Greg smiled. ‘You call me love, I gotta call you something.’

‘You call me Myc.’

‘Not the same.’

‘And you figured _babe_ is as good as _love_?’

‘Maybe,’ Greg said. ‘Why, don’t you like it?’ Mycroft didn’t say anything but the way he wrinkled his nose was answer enough. ‘Fine, fine, I’ll think of something else.’

Mycroft smiled and shifted back to look at the surgery across the road. At a little past one, John Watson walked out pulling on his coat. He buttoned it up and headed north, Mycroft smiling when he turned a corner and was out of sight.

‘We have half-an-hour, come on,’ he said and stepped from the car.

Greg followed, burying his hands in his coat as he and Mycroft crossed the road. They entered the surgery and Mycroft led the way, bypassing the girl at the front desk. She chased after them, getting in their way halfway down the white-walled hallway.

‘Excuse me, you can’t go down there.’

Mycroft frowned and pulled out an official looking ID, one that got flashed at Buckingham Palace and let you go straight through. 

‘Erm...’ the girl said, not used to seeing those kinds of credentials. 

‘Police business,’ Greg said and pulled out his own ID.

The girl was more used to that. ‘Oh, anything I can help you with?’ she asked.

‘No, we just need to see Dr Watson’s office.’

‘Is he in trouble?’ she asked, suddenly looking alarmed. ‘He’ll be back soon.’

‘No, no trouble,’ Greg said and flashed her a smile. ‘Sometimes Dr Watson helps on police cases, we just need to leave something for him.’

‘Erm... okay,’ the girl said and led the way. She stopped in front of a brown door with John’s name stamped across the front. ‘Just call if you need anything.’

‘Please don’t disturb us,’ Mycroft said and waited until she’d left to produce a lock-picking set.

‘Really?’ Greg shook his head as Mycroft went to work. ‘I could arrest you for this.’

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft chuckled, ‘you would never make those charges stick.’

‘Mm-hmm,’ Greg murmured as he turned to make sure they weren’t being watched. There was a click and Greg turned back to see that Mycroft had the door open. ‘Wow, you’re good.’

Mycroft beamed and entered the office, Greg following. He locked the door and turned to view the room. It was small, with white walls, a small white-clothed bed found in all doctor’s rooms, a very small brown table with a computer, notes and pens, and an uncomfortable looking chair.

Mycroft tutted as he spun the chair around. ‘This is bad for your back.’

He whipped out his mobile and sent a quick text as Greg peered through the window behind John’s desk, watching people walk by. ‘ _This_ is a bad idea.’

‘Why?’ Mycroft asked. ‘People have been naked in here before. There’s even a bed.’

‘Yeah, but... surely it can’t be sanitary.’

‘I had the room completely cleaned yesterday and John hasn’t had a patient yet.’

Greg chuckled. ‘You’re very weird, you know that?’

‘I do,’ Mycroft said and drew Greg in.

Suddenly Greg was being kissed, hard, and pulled towards the bed. He moaned as Mycroft pulled him onto the bed, all tongues and lips and demanding hands. They had to shift a bit to get comfortable. Turns out beds in doctor’s surgeries weren’t the most comfortable place to get it on.

‘This bed sucks,’ Greg grunted, kissing his way down Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft chuckled, every movement making the mattress creak. ‘I doubt they had this in mind when making them, Gregory.’

‘Mm,’ Greg murmured before sitting up. He pulled off his coat and jacket, Mycroft leaning to help with his shirt.

Greg hummed as Mycroft got his shirt open, hands warm on his chest. He tweaked a nipple and Greg jumped, Mycroft laughing again.

‘Shut up,’ he scowled as he shouldered out of his clothes. He bent to kiss Mycroft again, Mycroft’s arms wrapping around his shoulders, one hand threading through his hair.

‘We only have half-an-hour,’ Mycroft reminded him ten minutes later. Their lips were red and swollen, bodies hot and approaching sweaty. ‘Well, twenty minutes.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Greg mumbled before sliding off the bed. He tripped and fell into the door, managing to scowl at his boyfriend who was giggling.

‘Sorry,’ Mycroft said, grinning as Greg kicked his shoes and socks off before slipping from his trousers. When he looked up Mycroft was naked, sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling.

‘How the hell did you do that so quickly?’ Greg asked, pulling down his underwear.

‘It’s a gift,’ Mycroft said and raised his hand. He bent his index finger and Greg chuckled as he approached.

The DI placed his hands either side of Mycroft and leaned in for a kiss. Their lips connected softly and Greg tilted his head, making Mycroft go the other way. Mycroft’s tongue came out tentatively and Greg smiled. It was almost like a first kiss, like they hadn’t been together months and weren’t about to have sex in a doctor’s surgery.

Greg allowed Mycroft into his mouth, the politician taking his time to explore every inch of Greg. Greg began rutting against Mycroft’s leg, hair tickling his cock and making him giggle.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft sighed.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Greg smiled and gave Mycroft a quick and dirty kiss. ‘Now up, we don’t have long.’

‘You’re so romantic,’ Mycroft commented as he slid back to lie on the bed, legs spread wide just for Greg.

‘We’re having sex in public, honey, hardly romantic,’ Greg smiled. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that no to calling you _honey_?’

‘Hmm,’ Mycroft murmured as Greg shifted between his legs. ‘It’s better than _babe_.’

Greg smiled. ‘Noted.’ He licked his hand a few times before rubbing his cock, Mycroft watching silently. When he was wet enough, Greg took himself in one hand and moved forward. He pushed into Mycroft slowly, looking up to watch Mycroft groan and bite his lip. His eyes fluttered shut when Greg was completely inside, both breathing heavily.

‘Okay?’ Greg asked.

‘Of course,’ Mycroft nodded. ‘Please do move.’

Greg chuckled and bent down to kiss Mycroft softly, slipping out a little. ‘You’re way too polite.’

‘Well if you start fucking me maybe I’ll shout.’

Greg giggled and pushed back in, both men moaning. ‘You’re a weirdo, Mycroft Holmes.’

‘Yes, I believe you’ve said that,’ Mycroft mumbled, a grunt following his words as Greg started thrusting.

‘Just thought I’d... say it... again...’ Greg moaned, gripping Mycroft’s hips tightly. Mycroft moved to wrap his legs around Greg’s waist and pull him in, Greg now leaning over him. Mycroft pushed up to capture his lips and they exchanged quick, sloppy kisses, breathing heavily into each other’s mouths.

Greg started snapping his hips, burying himself deeper into Mycroft and hitting his prostate. Mycroft groaned loudly and gripped Greg’s arms, manicured nails digging into tanned flesh.

‘Shh,’ Greg hissed.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Mycroft mumbled, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to keep his moans in. But it didn’t work and he shouted, ‘Fuck!’ when Greg hit his prostate again.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg warned again.

‘I’m s-sorry,’ Mycroft said, eyes flickering, pupils dilated. ‘S-Sorry.’

‘I’ll have to make you come so you shut it,’ Greg said and grinned. He wrapped a hand around Mycroft’s cock, tugging in time with their thrusts. Mycroft threw his head back, perfect hair getting more and more ruffled the longer he was forced against the horribly uncomfortable bed.

‘G-Greg... fuck!’

Greg didn’t bother asking him to be quiet; it was a lost cause, that one. Instead he focused on fucking his boyfriend as hard as he could and swiping his thumb over the head of Mycroft’s cock.

Mycroft was close to properly shouting now but Greg just caught his lips, mashing their mouths together. Mycroft grunted into him, muscles tightening as he approached a climax.

Suddenly his back arched and he forced himself down onto Greg’s cock. Greg looked down just in time to see Mycroft come, liquid spilling across the DI’s fist and Mycroft’s stomach.

A few more thrusts and Greg was coming too, sinking his teeth into Mycroft’s soft shoulder. The politician groaned and ran his hands through Greg’s hair, kissing the side of his face as he emptied himself into Mycroft.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Greg whispered when he’d calmed down enough to remember how to speak. He pressed soft kisses to Mycroft’s neck, his jaw, murmuring as he went. ‘My boyfriend, my beautiful man.’

Mycroft smiled and pulled Greg in to kiss him properly. ‘I like that.’

‘Mm? Like what?’

‘I like you saying that,’ Mycroft said and managed to blush. Greg smiled. ‘You calling me... well...’

‘Beautiful?’ Greg asked and Mycroft nodded. ‘Well you are; very beautiful. Your jaw,’ he said and pressed a few kisses to Mycroft’s jaw, as if to prove his point. ‘You ear.’ Another kiss, this one to Mycroft’s earlobe, forcing the politician to giggle. ‘Your neck.’ He licked a trail down Mycroft’s pale neck, enjoying the moan Mycroft gave him. ‘Your collarbone.’ He sucked back on the skin, Mycroft shifting beneath him.

Greg pulled out and fell to lie beside Mycroft, wrapping an arm around the taller man and pulling him in.

‘And your lips,’ he whispered, drawing Mycroft closer to kiss his lips softly. ‘But do you know what’s the most beautiful thing about you?’

‘What?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Your arse.’

Mycroft tutted but was smiling. ‘Gregory.’

‘What? Your arse is spectacular; all smooth and pale and–’ Mycroft cut him off with a kiss, lips soft and swollen.

‘’Kay, I’ll be serious now.’

‘Please do,’ Mycroft said.

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘You are the most beautiful thing, Myc. Just you; your intelligence, your personality, your weirdness. All of it, and your arse, make you beautiful. Thank you for being with me.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘I should be thanking you.’

‘Thank me later when I get my breath back.’

Mycroft smiled and kissed him again.

There was a knock on the door and they broke apart. ‘ _Hello_?’ came the voice of the girl who worked the front desk. ‘ _Is everything okay in there? I heard shouting_.’

Greg and Mycroft were already moving, pulling on their clothes as quick as they could and not bothering to clean up.

‘ _Dr Watson called, he’s on his way back. I told him the police where here and he said he was hurrying_.’

‘Shit,’ Greg muttered as he buttoned up his shirt.

‘Let’s go,’ Mycroft said, waistcoat and jacket undone. He grabbed his coat and handed Greg his own, the DI shouldering into his jacket as Mycroft pulled the door open. The girl’s eyes went wide as she took in their dishevelled clothes. ‘Tell Dr Watson we had to go,’ Mycroft said, ‘but we’ll call him later.’

‘Er...’ the girl mumbled.

‘Cheers,’ Greg grinned and followed Mycroft down the hallway. They bumped into two guys delivering a chair and Greg marvelled at Mycroft’s ability to get furniture delivered in half-an-hour.

‘Mr Holmes,’ the man closest nodded, not even batting an eye at the way Mycroft was dressed.

‘Dr Watson’s office, gentlemen,’ Mycroft said, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. He scrawled a quick note and handed it over. ‘And take the old chair with you.’

‘Very well, sir,’ the man said and shuffled down the hallway.

‘Hey!’ the girl shouted after them. ‘Wait!’

Neither man listened and Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hand, dragging him through the waiting room and outside. They stumbled into a group of teenage boys who shouted curses as the couple tore across the road, a taxi honking its horn.

Greg got his door open and fell in, hearing Mycroft shout, ‘Hurry up!’

He opened Mycroft’s door and the politician fell in, panting as he slammed the door. ‘What?’

‘Duck!’

Greg did, body twisted awkwardly as he panted. ‘What?’ he repeated.

Mycroft sat up a little and said, ‘John.’

Greg sat up too and peered through the passenger’s side window. He could see John walking down the street, collar turned up against the cold. Greg smiled as the doctor went into the building.

‘Let’s go,’ Mycroft said, ‘I don’t want to be around when John figures out what we’ve been doing.’

‘Whatever you say, beautiful,’ Greg said.

Mycroft beamed and gave his boyfriend a quick kiss. They pulled on their seatbelts and Greg started the car, pulling into traffic and leaving a very pissed off doctor behind.

 

{oOo}

 

‘What do you mean, they left?’ John asked.

Rory looked at him as they walked down the hallway. ‘They were in your office about half-an-hour and just left suddenly, about two minutes ago.’

‘How’d they get into my office?’ John asked, stopping in front of his door. He tried the handle before saying, ‘I locked this.’

‘I don’t know, Dr Watson.’

John frowned. ‘They told you they were the police?’ Rory nodded. ‘What did they look like?’ He really hoped some of Sherlock’s enemies hadn’t decided to ransack his office.

‘The first one had some type of official looking ID. His partner had a police badge so he was with Scotland Yard.’

John frowned and pushed the door open. Nothing looked out of place and he turned back to Rory.

‘The official, he was tall and wearing a three-piece suit...’

John groaned.

‘... and had kind of wavy brown hair. His eyes were blue, long nose.’

‘And his partner?’ John asked, already rubbing his eyes.

‘Older, grey hair, tanned, broad-shouldered.’

‘Fucking hell.’

Rory jumped. ‘Sir?’

‘No, sorry, not your fault,’ John sighed.

‘Do you know them?’

‘Yeah,’ John sighed again. ‘That’s all, Rory, thank you.’

‘Not a problem, Dr Watson,’ Rory said, managing a weak smile before leaving John alone.

It was then that John noticed the new chair and groaned. ‘No, please no,’ he said. And then he saw the bed. ‘Jesus Christ, they... the _bed_?’ He was ranting to nobody and growled as he went to his desk. He spotted the note attached to the new chair and ripped it free.

 

_That old chair was bad for your back, especially after a night spent chasing my brother around London. I am sending men to clean the bed ASAP, my apologies– MH_

 

John groaned and backed up until he hit the wall. ‘Son of a fucking...’ He trailed off and whipped out his phone.

‘ _Hello_?’

‘Sherlock, those fucking bastards!’

He heard Sherlock groan before saying, ‘ _John, please calm down_.’

‘No, I will _not_ calm down!’ he snarled.

‘ _Why not_?’

‘They had sex in my office!’

There was a pause before, ‘ _John, your tone makes me believe that you are with me one hundred percent in this little feud_.’ He paused again. ‘ _Are you_?’

John glared at the bed opposite him.

‘ _John_?’

‘Yeah,’ John said, wetting his lips. He scrunched the paper up. ‘Yeah, I’m in.’

‘ _Excellent! I’ll think of something, John_.’

‘Just let me know.’

‘ _I love you_.’

‘Love you too,’ John smiled. He hung up and glared at the bed some more before sending the same text twice.

 

_This is war - John_

 

He snorted when he got the replies and sat in his new chair. Damn it, it was comfier then his last one.

 

_I look forward to it – MH_

 

**Bring it on - Greg**


	6. Cars

To say Sherlock and John were annoyed was a major understatement. Unfortunately Greg had to swing around 221B because, again, Sherlock had stolen evidence. Sally Donovan was with him and watched with a big smirk as Greg, Sherlock and John argued.

‘You can’t just steal evidence, Sherlock!’ the DI scowled. ‘How many times have I told you that?’

‘And _you_ can’t have sex in John’s office with my brother,’ Sherlock retorted. Greg had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. ‘Honestly, Lestrade, his _office_?’

‘Hey, you started this,’ Greg said and pointed a finger at him. ‘You had sex in Myc’s office. He had to get a new desk, a new chair, _and_ get the entire place scrubbed.’

‘And how do you think John feels?’ Sherlock demanded.

Greg looked at his mate. ‘Well... we didn’t do it on your desk.’

Sally giggled as John scowled. ‘Oh, and that makes it better? You realise it’s against the law, right? Public indecency and all that.’

‘Well...’ Greg didn’t have an answer for that and Sally choked trying to keep the laughter in. Greg rounded on her. ‘Find this funny?’

‘Oh yeah,’ she nodded. Greg glared. ‘Erm... I’ll just wait downstairs.’

She left quickly, Sherlock now shouting about fridges and limbs being severed (whatever that was). She ran into the landlady, Mrs Hudson if Sally remembered correctly.

‘What are they fighting about?’ the older woman asked.

‘Erm...’ Sally began, not sure she should discuss the two couples’ sex life in front of the other woman.

‘Is this about Mycroft and Gregory having sex in 221B?’ Mrs Hudson asked. Sally choked and coughed as she looked at Mrs Hudson with wide eyes. ‘The walls are very thin, dear.’

‘Right... right...’ Sally managed, clearing her throat.

They both looked up when they heard Sherlock shout, ‘IT WAS JOHN’S _CHAIR_!’

‘God, they’re hopeless, aren’t they?’ Sally commented.

Mrs Hudson smiled. ‘They’re young and trying to outdo each other. Those Holmes brothers are always at it.’

‘Mm,’ Sally nodded.

‘Do you think it will ever end?’ Mrs Hudson asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Sally shrugged. ‘From what I’ve gathered, Lestrade and the other Holmes started it. Freak and John went and did it in Lestrade’s office, followed by the other two doing it on the table.’ Mrs Hudson chuckled. ‘Then there was Mycroft’s office at some club, I don’t know, and then the doc’s surgery. Who knows what the Freak’ll do now?’

Mrs Hudson nodded along. ‘Sherlock _is_ persistent. I don’t think it’ll end until Sherlock has Mycroft apologising.’

Sally looked at her with wide eyes. ‘Suits? _Apologise_? I don’t think so.’

‘No?’

Sally shook her head. ‘He comes around the Yard a fair bit to see the Boss. I don’t think he’ll stop, he’s too much like Sherlock. _And_ the boss says he’s smarter.’

Suddenly a smirk crossed Mrs Hudson’s face and Sally raised her eyebrows.

‘What?’ Sally asked.

‘Care to have a little bet?’

‘You want to bet on who’ll win this... thing?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Fun,’ Mrs Hudson shrugged. ‘Isn’t that why people do anything?’

Sally laughed, thinking about how strange it was to stand in the hallway of 221 and talk to Mrs Hudson about betting on the Holmes brothers.

‘Alright, why not?’ Sally said. ‘I think the Boss’ll win.’

‘I’m Johnlock all the way.’

Sally stared. ‘Johnlock?’ she asked.

‘We have to call them something,’ Mrs Hudson said. ‘If Johnlock wins, you owe me fifty quid.’

‘Alright,’ Sally chuckled, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. She pulled out her notebook and pen. ‘I’ll take... Lecroft? No, erm... Croftstrade? No, that sound stupid...’ She tapped her pen against her lips as she thought.

‘Mystrade?’ Mrs Hudson offered.

Sally grinned. ‘Brilliant,’ she said and jotted down all the places. ‘Mystrade are in the lead at the moment; chair, table and surgery. Johnlock have a desk and a club.’

‘Johnlock definitely,’ Mrs Hudson nodded. ‘I’ll keep an ear out.’

‘Me too,’ Sally said. ‘Fifty quid?’ she said and held out her hand.

Mrs Hudson smiled and took it with her own, her grip surprisingly strong. ‘Fifty quid.’

The door above them banged loudly and Sally quickly put her notebook away.

‘Donovan, with me!’ Greg shouted as he stormed past and ripped the front door open.

Mrs Hudson winked at Sally and the officer waved as she left after her boss.

 

{oOo}

 

John turned after Greg left to see Sherlock staring out the window. ‘So...’ he said.

‘John, we need to talk to Sally again.’

‘Why?’ John asked.

‘We need her help.’

‘Why?’ John repeated.

Sherlock smiled and turned to look at his boyfriend. ‘We’re going to have sex in Lestrade’s police car.’

 

{oOo}

 

Turns out they didn’t need Sally’s help. It was easy (for Sherlock, anyway) to sneak into the car park and locate Greg’s car. Somehow he had keys (John didn’t ask, he didn’t want to be an accessory. The less facts he knew the better) and unlocked the car.

Sherlock slipped in and John followed, joining his boyfriend on the back seat.

‘Hurry, John,’ Sherlock said and undid his belt. ‘I don’t know when Lestrade will be called on a case.’

‘Trust you to make this even less romantic,’ John grunted as he got his own trousers open. Sherlock had kicked off his shoes and shimmied from his pants before mounting John. ‘Fuck,’ the doctor muttered as Sherlock rutted against him, cocks together and lips meeting in a frenzy of teeth and tongue.

Sherlock managed to pull a small bottle of lube from his coat pocket and squeezed it onto his hands. He warmed the gel before grabbing John’s cock and stroking quickly, nearly making John come right then and there.

‘John,’ Sherlock warned as he moved, lifting himself up.

‘Sorry, but fuck, going quick enough?’ John asked.

‘We have to, there’s something else we have to do today at two.’

John checked his watch. ‘That’s an hour from now.’

‘We need an hour to get hard again.’

‘Maybe _you_ do,’ John said, his snicker turning into a groan as he was forced into Sherlock’s tight heat.

‘Louder,’ Sherlock muttered, tongue licking strips against John’s exposed neck. ‘I come faster when you moan loudly.’

‘God, Sherlock,’ John grunted as Sherlock started moving up and down, squeezing his muscles tightly around John with each thrust. John’s hands came up to grip Sherlock’s hips, nails digging in as he helped his boyfriend move.

‘John,’ Sherlock moaned loudly, eyes shut, teeth biting into John’s neck.

‘God,’ John whimpered in response, Sherlock moving faster. The consulting detective hit his head on the roof of the car and whined, John chuckling.

‘Shut up,’ Sherlock mumbled, leaning to sink his teeth deeper into John’s neck and suck back on his skin.

‘Stop leaving... hickies...’ John said.

‘Never,’ Sherlock replied.

John could only moan, an orgasm fast approaching. Sherlock was all hot and panting and sucking and his long, thin fingers were pulling at his hair, his jacket. He wasn’t going to last long and, four minutes after climbing into the car, John came.

He moaned and pushed up, Sherlock once again smacking his head into the roof. It didn’t stop Sherlock coming all over John’s shirt, his cock not even touched. They both went still, panting against each other, Sherlock playing with John’s hair.

‘Up,’ he said suddenly and slid off, producing a packet of tissues for John to clean them up.

‘My prince,’ John muttered as he wiped at himself and his boyfriend. His shirt was a lost cause and John zipped his jacket up as he followed Sherlock from the car.

‘Your what?’

‘Prince,’ John grinned and hauled Sherlock in by the scarf, planting a hard, hot kiss against him. ‘So, do we have time for lunch before whatever it is you have to do later?’

‘ _We_ , John,’ Sherlock corrected as he locked the door and started walking. ‘ _We_ have something to do later.’

‘Whatever, I just need food.’

Sherlock chuckled and linked their fingers, humming under his breath.

 

{oOo}

 

‘You can’t be serious,’ John said as one of Mycroft’s black, tinted cars drew up.

‘Why not?’ Sherlock asked as the driver got out.

‘You realise Mycroft and Greg have probably...’ he trailed off as the driver opened the back door for them.

‘Yes, I know they’ve had sex in the back of pretty much every single car Mycroft owns.’

‘Sherlock,’ John warned, looking at the driver.

‘Oh, he knows,’ Sherlock tutted. ‘He’s paid to drive, not listen.’

John looked at the driver, who gave him a smile and nod. ‘Sir.’

‘Er, ’kay,’ John said and climbed into the car, Sherlock following.

Sherlock took his time, pressing soft kisses to John’s neck, hands grazing his face and back.

‘Not in a rush?’ John asked.

‘We have a few hours, John, and then Mycroft is picking Greg up in this car.’

John chuckled and grabbed Sherlock by the back of the head, forcing him to look up. Their lips met softly and John took his time to explore Sherlock’s mouth thoroughly, licking his teeth, his tongue, as slowly as he could. The car was filled with wet sucking noises until John jumped.

‘What?’ Sherlock asked, a light note of irritation in his voice.

‘Erm... the driver,’ John said.

‘So?’

‘Sherlock.’

‘Fine,’ Sherlock sighed and turned. ‘Joshua?’

‘Yes, Master Sherlock?’

John giggled at the title. ‘Please drive us... somewhere, and then kindly get lost.’

‘Sherlock,’ John scowled.

‘Sorry, sorry; kindly go and do something that isn’t in this car,’ Sherlock said. ‘I’ll call you when you can come back.’

Suddenly the car stopped and Joshua said, ‘Very good, sir. The car is parked in one of Master Mycroft’s garages, you won’t be disturbed. Nice to meet you, Dr Watson.’ And then the door shut and everything was silent.

Sherlock turned back to John. ‘Better?’

‘Yup,’ John nodded and pulled him in for a good, long snog. They kissed for minutes or hours, possibly days, all John knew was that his lips ached and he was positive he’d lost a couple of brain cells from lack of oxygen.

‘John,’ Sherlock moaned, shifting to sit on John’s lap. The doctor could feel everything through Sherlock’s thin trousers. His body was warm, his thighs hard and muscular where they pressed either side of John.

His arms were thin yet muscular too where they wrapped around John, the consulting detective’s coat now on the floor. They had a lot more room than they did in Greg’s car and John could thrust up without Sherlock being in danger of knocking himself out.

John threaded his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, enjoying the soft raven curls he found. There was something about Sherlock’s hair that made John smile; always curly, always bouncy, and so nice to grab so John could tip Sherlock’s hair back.

Sherlock arched off him, John pressing his lips to that pale neck he loved so much. He licked at Sherlock’s skin, the younger man shivering atop him and moaning softly. John sucked back on Sherlock’s Adams apple, not pulling back until Sherlock’s skin glowed a nice rosy red.

‘John, John, John,’ Sherlock moaned, thrusting his crotch into John.

John grabbed the lapels of Sherlock’s jacket, pulling him in so he could bite Sherlock’s neck, hating that his shirt was in the way.

‘Clothes, off,’ he demanded.

Sherlock quickly shed his shirt and jacket, moaning loudly when John sucked on his collarbone before moving down to lick a nipple. The nub hardened beneath his lips and Sherlock fisted his hands in John’s short hair, bending to watch John’s tongue lick at his chest hair.

Suddenly John was pushing Sherlock down until the genius was lying across the large backseat of Mycroft’s car. Sherlock kicked his shoes off as John started pulling at his belt, eventually getting a hand down Sherlock’s underwear.

Sherlock rutted against his hand, arching off the seat and trying to get more friction. ‘John,’ he moaned. ‘Please.’

‘Please what?’ John teased.

‘I need... more...’ He grunted when John curled a hand around his cock. ‘ _Please_.’

John took pity and pulled Sherlock’s cock out, thumbing the head before shifting back. He twirled his tongue up and down the length of Sherlock’s shaft, grinning when Sherlock began moaning his name again and again.

John took him in completely, sucking back and hollowing his cheeks as he let his teeth skim across Sherlock’s cock.

Sherlock pushed up into John’s mouth, enjoying the heat, the wetness, everything. His cock forced its way down his throat and John breathed in through his nose every time Sherlock pulled out. His fingers tightened on Sherlock’s thighs but he made no attempt to stop Sherlock thrusting, enjoying that his boyfriend was basically fucking his mouth.

He felt the taller man tense and swallowed to stimulate his head.

‘J-John... f-fuck!’ Sherlock shouted and came, shooting down his boyfriend’s throat with a shudder.

John licked him clean before letting Sherlock fall from him with a wet _pop_.

‘John, I wanted... I was going to... we shouldn’t have...’ Sherlock didn’t seem to know what he wanted to say, instead just rubbing at his chest and looking up at John with wide eyes.

John didn’t answer, preferring to sit back so he could get out of his own clothes. Once naked he leaned over Sherlock again and kissed him.

‘I’m gonna fuck you right here, right now, while you’re completely spent and tired.’

Sherlock groaned. ‘Lube under the seat.’

John raised an eyebrow and shifted back to flip the seat cushion up. He found a small compartment filled with condoms, lube and towels. Chuckling, John grabbed a half-empty bottle of lube.

‘Your brother isn’t subtle, is he?’ he commented as he popped the cap, spreading liquid along his erection.

‘Not really, no,’ Sherlock chuckled. ‘Please, let’s not talk about him.’

John smirked and let some lube drip over the leather seats. ‘Oops.’

‘You are evil, my dear John.’ Sherlock’s eyes flashed. ‘I love it.’

‘I love you too,’ John said and leaned over to kiss him softly.

‘Now fuck me, please.’

John laughed and moved back, grabbing his cock before moving to Sherlock’s entrance. The genius groaned as he was completely filled, squeezing his own thighs.

‘Oh, John.’

John began thrusting immediately, not wanting to be soft and sweet. He wanted to fuck Sherlock into another orgasm, to force him to come long and hard until it shattered everything in that delicious mind of his.

He snapped his hips with every thrust before leaning down to bite at Sherlock’s chest, nipping at his right nipple until the consulting detective was writhing beneath him.

‘Sherlock?’

‘So... good,’ Sherlock moaned. ‘Gonna get... hard... again.’

He rubbed at his cock softly as if to prove his point, rolling his hips to get John deeper and deeper in.

‘I’m gonna come all over that pretty stomach,’ John hissed, licking his way down to Sherlock’s bellybutton.

‘Kind of defeats the point of fucking in my brother’s car,’ Sherlock grunted.

‘Oh, but I want to ruin your pretty skin,’ John murmured. ‘Do you not want that?’

‘No, please,’ Sherlock shook his head roughly, lovely curls bouncing around his red face, ‘please come on me.’

‘You’re so filthy,’ John commented, burying himself in deeply.

Sherlock groaned. ‘Yes, whatever you want.’

John pounded into him harder, an orgasm getting closer and closer until he was pulling out. Sherlock was jerking his cock, moaning and looking up at John with lust-blown eyes. John took his own cock in one hand, Sherlock’s in the other, and pumped them together.

They came together, leaking over Sherlock’s stomach and shouting. Sherlock groaned and arched up into John’s touch, eyes squeezed shut and teeth biting into his bottom lip.

Panting, John fell back to sit, nearly smacking his head on the window. He chuckled and said, ‘Note to self; cars aren’t a good place to have sex.’

‘I thought it was marvellous,’ Sherlock said, sitting up with a grin. He trailed a finger through the liquid on his stomach and said, ‘Towels under the seat.’

John found small, white washcloths and chuckled as he cleaned Sherlock up. He let the cloth fall to the floor and pulled Sherlock in for a kiss.

‘Love you.’

‘I love you too, John,’ Sherlock smiled. ‘Now I have to text Lestrade.’

John chuckled.

 

{oOo}

 

Sally texted Mrs Hudson as Greg stormed about Scotland Yard, shouting about lunatics and backseats.

 

_Johnlock got Lestrade’s car – Sally Donovan_

 

Sally looked up when Greg started shouting again.

‘My car, Mycroft, MY _CAR_!’

A few officers scurried out of his way, including Dimmock who came to stand beside Sally. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Freak and Watson had sex in Lestrade’s car.’

‘Why?’ Dimmock asked, chuckling when Sally explained everything.

‘Mrs Hudson and me have a bet going.’

‘Who?’

‘Holmes’ landlady.’

‘Hmm,’ Dimmock said, looking up when Mycroft Holmes walked in, going straight to Greg’s office. He and Sally followed the couple downstairs and out to the car park where a dozen cleaners were waiting. ‘I’m in.’

‘What?’

‘Put me down for Lestrade winning.’

‘You sure?’ Sally asked.

‘Yep, Lestrade looks murderous,’ Dimmock said as Greg shouted, pointing at the backseat. ‘Fifty quid.’

Sally’s phone buzzed and she pulled it out.

 

**Oh, my boys really ARE evil. Sure you don’t want to change your bet, dear? – Mrs H**

 

Sally looked through the glass doors to see Greg and Mycroft together, heads bent and hands flying as they spoke hurriedly.

 

_No way, I’m totally winning this. Oh, and another officer is in for fifty quid, Dimmock. He’s Team Mystrade too – Sally Donovan_

 

**Excellent, I’ll buy so many lovely things with my winnings :) – Mrs H**

 

Sally barely managed to step back as Greg and Mycroft pushed past her.

‘– that’ll totally piss Sherlock off,’ Greg said.

‘That’s why I suggested it, love,’ Mycroft replied.

They hurried off and Sally chuckled, Dimmock shaking his head.

 

{oOo}

 

Greg climbed into Mycroft’s car and smiled, leaning over to give him a quick kiss.

‘Dinner?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Sounds lovely,’ Greg nodded, having finally calmed down after his car was scrubbed clean. ‘God, I need something strong after today, maybe a scotch.’

The driver cleared his throat and both men turned. ‘Yes, Joshua?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Sir, I think I should tell you that Master Sherlock borrowed this car a few hours ago.’

Mycroft froze before shouting, ‘STOP!’

The car did and Mycroft and Greg both leapt out, the latter groaning. Mycroft rubbed his eyes viciously.

‘That son of a FUCKING BITCH!’ His phone began ringing and Mycroft pulled it out. ‘What?’

‘ _Your move_ ,’ Sherlock said before hanging up.

Mycroft refrained from throwing the BlackBerry against the road. ‘I will _kill_ him.’

‘Calm down, love, we’ll get them back,’ Greg said. ‘Jesus, I need to change.’

‘I’ll order another car,’ Mycroft said, already tapping at his phone.

 

{oOo}

 

Around the corner, Sherlock grinned and pocketed his mobile.

‘You’re evil,’ John chuckled and linked their arms. He allowed Sherlock to pull him down the street.

‘Oh yes,’ Sherlock nodded, ‘I know.’

John just smiled and gave him a soft kiss, trying not to think about how the other couple were going to retaliate.


	7. Bedroom

Greg shifted into the break room and spotted Donovan. He coughed slightly before walking over to her, pouring himself some coffee to put off asking.

‘What?’ Sally said when she noticed Greg looked at her.

‘What?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Er...’

‘Boss?’

Greg sighed. ‘I need you to call Sherlock Holmes and get him to come the Yard.’

‘Why?’

‘Erm...’ Sally raised an eyebrow. ‘I just need to get him and John out of their flat for an hour and Sherlock won’t leave if I call him.’

‘Why?’

Greg fiddled with his mug before saying, ‘I kind of... did some things when Sherlock was out of the flat... erm...’

Sally giggled. ‘Wait, you want me to call Holmes and have him come over here so you can do your boyfriend in 221B?’

Greg choked on the mouthful of coffee he’d just sipped.

‘Relax, I’ll do it.’

‘Really?’

‘Mm. I have a bet going with Mrs Hudson.’

‘You _what_?’ Greg demanded.

‘Relax,’ Sally tutted, ‘I reckon you’ll win.’

Greg paused before, ‘Really?’

‘’Course.’

Greg smiled. ‘So you’ll call Sherlock?’

‘Yup,’ she nodded and Greg turned to leave.

‘Half-an-hour!’ he called over his shoulder.

She just waved a hand.

 

{oOo}

 

Mrs Hudson let them in. ‘Well hello boys,’ she grinned knowingly.

Greg groaned as he led Mycroft upstairs. ‘What?’ the politician asked.

‘She knows.’

‘Knows...?’

‘That we’re here to have sex.’

‘How?’ Mycroft asked, letting Greg into his brother’s flat.

‘She and Donovan have a bet going,’ Greg said. ‘Sally’s on our side.’

Mycroft chuckled and closed the door, locking it with a click. ‘Remind me to send her a thank you.’

Greg smiled and pulled Mycroft in for a kiss, shouldering out of his coat as he did. They kissed softly, lips tentative and tongues licking strips against each other. Suddenly Greg was dragging Mycroft up the stairs and towards the bedroom they knew Sherlock and John now shared.

Greg managed to kick the door open and started pulling at Mycroft’s clothes, the sheer number of clothing he wore meaning it took two minutes.

‘Maybe dress lightly next time, hmm?’ Greg commented as he kissed his way down Mycroft’s neck.

‘It’s cold,’ Mycroft pouted.

‘So? Go without the tie and waistcoat _and_ jacket...’ he trailed off and pushed Mycroft onto the bed, Mycroft letting out a huff of air and smiling as he sat up to help pull Greg’s belt free. Greg grinned back and kicked off his shoes before getting undressed and falling to his knees.

He made Mycroft lie down, the man looking very pale on the dark duvet. Greg wondered if that’s why John had chosen black (because he was sure the doctor did all the shopping, not Sherlock). Maybe John liked seeing Sherlock’s pale skin against the black silk of their bedspread.

And then pushing those thoughts out of his mind (because he did not want to think about John and Sherlock having sex while he himself tried to get off), Greg eased Mycroft’s cock into his mouth, the taller man sucking air between his teeth and letting his head fall against the plush pillows.

‘Silk,’ he muttered as Greg bobbed up and down on his cock, moving slowly and letting his tongue twirl around the head.

Greg chuckled and took Mycroft again, pulling back every third suck to lap pre-come away from Mycroft’s slit.

Greg pushed his right hand against Mycroft’s chest, rubbing at a nipple as his other hand came up to grab the bottom of Mycroft’s shaft. Mycroft groaned loudly and squeezed Greg’s naked hip, smooth fingers running up and down his side and making him shudder.

Greg twisted his head, sucking Mycroft’s cock into his throat and swallowing to stimulate his head. Greg pulled back to admire his work, smiling when he took in the entire length of Mycroft’s shaft.

Before Mycroft could say anything Greg was sucking on him again, the politician fisting a hand in his hair and swearing under his breath. Greg twisted one of his nipples, Mycroft shuddering and trying not to arch into Greg’s mouth.

Mycroft’s groans were getting louder now and Greg stopped when he sensed Mycroft getting close.

‘You’re wet enough,’ Greg grinned and leaned against the bed. He wiggled his arse to make his needs clear and Mycroft chuckled as he sat, sliding off the bed and onto his feet.

Mycroft made Greg bend over the bed and eased in gently, the DI groaning and twisting his hands in the duvet. He pressed his forehead against the black bedspread, biting his lip when Mycroft pushed all the way in.

He started slow, easing in and out and giving Greg a chance to get used to his cock.

‘Harder, Myc.’

‘Are you sure?’

Greg groaned as Mycroft pushed back in, slowly. ‘Yes, for fuck’s sake!’

Mycroft chuckled before moving faster, slowly building until he was forcing Greg against the mattress, the DI’s crotch pushing into the side of the bed.

Greg moaned loudly as Mycroft fucked him, grunting and licking his lips. Mycroft grabbed him by the shoulder, making sure Greg kept in place as he was fucked.

‘Jesus... Christ...’ Greg whimpered, grunting as Mycroft hit his prostate.

He continued to pound into Greg for a minute before pushing hard, forcing Greg onto the bed and never once pulling out as he made Greg kneel. The DI thrust his arse back, aching to get Mycroft deeper in. Mycroft pushed him down until he was lying flat, cock rubbing against the bed as Mycroft thrust in.

‘There, please!’ Greg moaned as Mycroft hit his prostate. ‘There, there, there...’

Mycroft leaned on his knuckles, hovering over Greg and snapping his hips to get deeper and deeper in.

‘God, Myc... you’re so beautiful, so hot, so... fuck...’

‘I should be the one saying you’re beautiful,’ Mycroft moaned, bending to press kisses to Greg’s shoulder blades. ‘I love you so much.’

‘Love you too,’ Greg moaned, biting at the bedspread beneath him.

Mycroft chuckled and snapped his hips, hitting Greg’s prostate the next few thrusts.

Suddenly Mycroft tipped Greg over, slipping out as he forced his lover onto his side. Greg looked up just as Mycroft grabbed his left leg, pushing it back to thrust into him again.

Greg groaned and hooked his leg over Mycroft’s shoulder, tipping his head back and off the bed. He let his head loll as Mycroft fucked him hard, gripping his legs tightly to keep the DI on the bed.

‘Fuck, Myc,’ Greg groaned.

‘I wanna watch you... come...’ Mycroft grunted, looking down at Greg with lust-blown eyes.

‘G-God... ye-es,’ Greg managed. He always loved seeing Mycroft slip away, seeing him come undone and stop being the polite, mysterious politician everyone knew. He got to see the swearing Mycroft, the naked one, the man who would do _anything_ to see Greg happy.

Like fuck him ten ways to Sunday on his little brother’s bed.

Greg rolled his hips and pulled on his cock, biting his lip hard as he watched Mycroft’s cock disappear into his arse. ‘Jesus,’ he moaned and let his head fall back again, body feeling like it was on fire, sweat dripping into his eyes.

‘Greg,’ Mycroft grunted, hips gyrating as he thrust to hit Greg’s prostate. ‘Greg, Greg– _ah_!’ He moaned loudly as he came, emptying himself into Greg and continuing to thrust.

Greg came seconds later, leaking all over his stomach and pushing off the bed, burying Mycroft’s softening cock deeper into his hole. ‘Jesus _fuck_!’ he shouted.

Mycroft chuckled as Greg fell back onto the bed, breathing heavily and blinking. He pulled out slowly before shifting to lie beside his boyfriend, pushing an arm around the DI and pulling him in for a kiss.

‘I love you, Gregory.’

‘Love... you... too,’ Greg managed, pressing their lips together to exchange sloppy, wet kisses. ‘Sherlock’s gonna... lose it.’

‘Mm,’ Mycroft murmured, not caring in the least. No, right then and there, there was only Greg.

 

{oOo}

 

Sherlock was a blur as he stomped through 221B, looking around for any signs that his brother and friend had been shagging in their home.

‘Sherlock–’ John began, only to be cut off by a loud swear from the bedroom. ‘What?’

‘THOSE FUCKING PRICKS, I WILL FUCKING GODDAMN MOTHER FUCKING MURDER THEM!’

John had never heard Sherlock swear so much and raced up the stairs. He stepped into the room and swore.

‘Fucking arseholes!’

The bed was made but messy, the blanket half pulled off the bed, two pillows on the floor. It was obvious what had happened, even if John hadn’t spotted the towel on the floor.

‘OUR BED!’ Sherlock shouted before pulling out his mobile.

‘ _Hel_ –’

‘OUR FUCKING _BED_ , MYCROFT!’ Sherlock screamed, cutting his brother off.

‘ _You had sex in my car and Gregory’s_ ,’ Mycroft said, sounding annoyed. ‘ _What did you expect?_ ’

‘OUR BED!’

‘ _Is this going to be like the time I slept with my boyfriend on the chair, with you repeating "John’s chair" over and over again?_ ’

Sherlock scowled and kicked the door, John stepping out of the line of fire.

‘Mark my words, Mycroft, you will _pay_ for this.’

‘ _I’d expect nothing else_ ,’ Mycroft said pleasantly. ‘ _Give my regards to John_.’

Sherlock swore as he hung up and glared at the bed.

‘I’m not cleaning up,’ John said, grinning when Sherlock groaned.


	8. Bedroom II

Sherlock smirked as he stepped into his brother’s flat, quickly entering the alarm code. ‘He is so predictable.’

‘What was it?’ John asked, closing the door. ‘Gregory? Lestrade?’

‘June 30,’ Sherlock said and smirked when John raised an eyebrow. ‘Lestrade’s birthday.’

John chuckled and followed Sherlock through the flat. It was big, Mycroft owned the entire top two floors of the building. Everything was dark, polished wood; the floors, the walls, the furniture. The main room was like a loft; a large living space with couches, armchairs, and a TV system, a tiled kitchen up a step to the left with marble counter tops, a stainless steel fridge, a freezer and black cupboards, and four large bay windows that curled out to let you sit and stare out at London.

To their left was a staircase leading upstairs to the library, a bathroom, the music room that had Mycroft’s piano and Greg’s many guitars and two guest rooms. To their right was a hallway leading to the main bedroom, the main bathroom and Mycroft’s and Greg’s shared study.

John whistled as he stepped up into the kitchen. ‘I haven’t been here since Greg moved in,’ he said and looked through the fridge, finding microwavable dinners that he was sure belonged to the DI.

‘Yes, Lestrade has brought a certain lived in feel to the place,’ Sherlock commented as he picked up a blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. He looked up to see Greg’s books and CD’s crammed into Mycroft’s expensive bookcases. ‘John, bedroom.’

‘Umf,’ came the reply.

Sherlock turned to see John stuffing his face with biscuits and he tutted.

John swallowed three chocolate covered biscuits and said, ‘What? I haven’t had lunch yet.’

‘You realise Mycroft’s flat is under surveillance, yes?’ Sherlock said. ‘Even with the correct code, his assistant will be notified that someone is here. She’ll check the surveillance footage, see us, and call Mycroft.’

‘M’kay,’ John said and stuffed the packet back into the cupboard. ‘Come on, sex me up.’

Sherlock chuckled and held out his hand. John linked their fingers and allowed his boyfriend to lead him to the main bedroom.

And what a bedroom.

It was as big as 221B with a massive four-poster bed covered in dark blue silk covers and large pillows. The wardrobe was walk-in, the wooden doors open to show a large space you could sit in with a leather-backed couch. The left wall had two large windows hung with black drapes, the right wall framed photos. To John’s immediate right was an open door that led to a red-tiled en-suite bathroom and on either side of the bed was a large chest of drawers with lamps. There were bookcases everywhere as well as CD racks, an acoustic guitar in the corner, and various magazines, books and files stacked on every available surface.

‘Greg sleeps on the left,’ John commented, finding a stack of music magazines as well as a battered copy of the seventh Harry Potter book. He looked up to see a Doctor Who book and various biographies on the other set of drawers. ‘Ha, Greg got Mycroft into Doctor Who.’

‘How lovely.’

John was suddenly turned and pushed onto the bed, letting out a breath of air as Sherlock started undressing him. He smiled and didn’t sit up until they were both naked. Sherlock climbed onto the bed and hovered over John, pushing down to feel the springy mattress.

‘Hmm...’ Sherlock murmured before shifting.

John raised an eyebrow until he realised what Sherlock was doing. The younger man stopped when his crotch was over John, his long, thick cock inches from John’s face. John wasted no time in leaning up, taking Sherlock in his mouth all the way to the base.

Sherlock groaned and started pushing down, bouncing on the mattress as he sank into John’s mouth again and again. He managed a few grunts before John pushed up, his own cock nudging Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock grinned and took his boyfriend in, lips hollowing as he sucked back. John groaned around him, tongue lapping at the underside and head of Sherlock’s cock.

 

_Text from: Kath Adrian_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_I have heard about the pool you and Mrs Hudson have going about Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes. Count me in; put me down for the two couples tying._

 

The bedroom was filled with soft sucking noises as well as panting, grunting, and the sound of a mattress bouncing up and down.

Sherlock sucked back in one long, hard breath, John groaning and letting Sherlock fall from his lips.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he groaned, thrusting up to bury himself into his boyfriend’s hot mouth. ‘Sh-Sherlock.’

 

_Text from: Sally Donovan_

_To: Kath Adrian_

_Don’t think I know you but you’re in. A tie, really?_

 

Sherlock rolled onto his back before getting up. John was kissing at his back, his neck, as Sherlock pulled open the closest drawer and withdrew a bottle of lube. He pushed John back and the doctor grabbed a pillow, stuffing it behind his head as Sherlock poured liquid onto his hands.

 

_Text from: Kath Adrian_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_Definitely a tie._

 

Sherlock rubbed his cock and John bit his lip, watching as his boyfriend rubbed lube all over himself.

‘For Christ’s sake, Sherlock, you’re the one who said we didn’t have all day.’

Sherlock chuckled and threw the lube over his shoulder. ‘Woops.’

John giggled as Sherlock pulled his legs apart, lining himself up before pushing. He groaned loudly as Sherlock slipped all the way in, muscles squeezing around the consulting detective and making him moan.

Sherlock started a soft, slow rhythm, rocking in and out of John and cussing under his breath.

 

{oOo}

 

The woman John knew as Anthea was just sitting down for her coffee break when her BlackBerry buzzed. She clicked through the various security measures before a text alerted her that someone was at her boss’ flat.

Anthea knew for a fact that Mycroft was in his office, shifting through a mountain of paperwork and muttering under his breath. She wondered if it was Greg as she pressed a few keys on her laptop to bring up the surveillance footage of Mycroft’s flat.

Though there were no cameras or listening devices inside the flat itself, there were outside the front door. More than once Mycroft had forgotten in the heat of the moment and Anthea had had to remind her boss that the front door was no place to ravish the love of his life.

A second later the footage had uploaded and Anthea smirked when she saw Sherlock Holmes pick the lock before disappearing inside. He was followed by John Watson and the door shut quickly.

Anthea was aware of this game her boss had going with his younger brother and sat back in her seat to sip her coffee. She knew she should have been telling Mycroft but he _was_ busy and she _was_ on her break. Plus there was that little pool at Scotland Yard that Sally Donovan had going.

She decided to finish her coffee before alerting her boss to the younger Holmes’ behaviour. If Sherlock wasn’t out of there by the time Mycroft got home it was his own fault.

 

{oOo}

 

‘Sherlock!’ John groaned as his boyfriend hit his prostate. ‘Fuck... right... there!’

Sherlock began thrusting harder, grunting in his efforts to keep pounding into his partner. He moaned and bent down to suck at John’s neck, teeth biting into the tanned skin he loved so much.

‘Sh-Sherlock...’ John moaned, pushing his head back into the pillow and rolling his hips to meet each of Sherlock’s thrusts. Sherlock had barely got his hand around John’s cock before the doctor was coming, leaking over his stomach and groaning.

Sherlock followed a second later, burying his face in John’s neck and panting heavily as a climax rolled over his body, making him shake. He slipped out and dropped to rest on John, sucking in lungfuls of air and sighing.

‘Mm, get off me.’

Sherlock chuckled and rolled clear. He laid on his back, brushing hair from his sweaty face. ‘John?’

‘Mm?’

‘Love you.’

John smiled and nudged Sherlock with his leg. ‘Love you too.’

 

{oOo}

 

Mycroft stood in the doorway glaring at the bed, unfortunately able to deduce quite well what his little brother had got up to that morning.

‘Myc?’ Greg said, coming up behind his partner. ‘You okay?’

‘We need a new bed.’

‘We can just change the sheets, maybe buy some new ones.’

‘We need a new bed.’

Greg sighed. ‘Myc, we just got that mattress.’

Mycroft paused before repeating, ‘We need a new bed.’

He stalked away, BlackBerry already pressed to his ear.

Greg sighed again and leaned against the doorframe, looking the bed over. ‘Well, at least it got a good send off.’


	9. Laptop

_Email from: kathleen.mcewan@metpolice.org.uk_

_To: sally.donovan@metpolice.org.uk_

_Hey, I heard from Dimmock about the war between those Holmeses. Put me in, Team Mystrade._

 

Greg pushed Mycroft against the wall, the elder Holmes groaning as he thumped into the wood. ‘G-Greg...’

He kissed Mycroft hotly, licking his way into Mycroft’s mouth before sucking back on his tongue. Mycroft pushed a hand through Greg’s hair, holding him in place as they plundered each other’s mouths.

They were in 221B and Sherlock and John had both stepped out to do the grocery shopping. Well, John had stepped out; Sherlock had sulked. The consulting detective didn’t think it important to do food shopping but John said he’d withhold sex if Sherlock didn’t come shopping just once. Sherlock was out the door before John had finished his sentence.

Mycroft breathed heavily as he pulled Greg in, arm wrapping around the DI’s waist before his hand moved to cup Greg’s arse. He squeezed tightly and Greg grunted into his mouth, forcing their bodies tighter together so Mycroft was trapped between him and the wall.

‘We don’t... have... long...’ Mycroft managed, tilting his head to give Greg a dirtier kiss.

Greg smiled against him, licking at Mycroft’s lips before pulling away. He placed quick, wet kisses against Mycroft’s jaw, his ear, before going down his neck. He couldn’t get further because Mycroft’s shirt was in the way and they didn’t have time to get naked.

He gave Mycroft one last sloppy kiss before dropping to his knees, quickly unbuckling Mycroft’s expensive belt and dropping his trousers. Mycroft was already hard and Greg wasted no time in licking his lips and sucking back on Mycroft’s cock.

The elder Holmes groaned and fisted a hand in Greg’s hair, drawing him up and down his shaft. ‘They’ll be... back... soon...’ Mycroft managed to get out between grunts and groans, Greg now using his teeth. ‘Can I... I... fuck!’

Greg knew what Mycroft was asking and was more than willing to comply. He pushed a hand up Mycroft’s shirt, scratching his nails down Mycroft’s skin as he took him in completely, swallowing to work Mycroft’s head.

‘Jesus Christ, Greg,’ Mycroft groaned, letting his head thump into the wall and eyes shut. He pushed his crotch forward, now fucking Greg’s face. The DI just relaxed his throat and breathed in through his nose when Mycroft pulled back. ‘S-so... close...’

Greg sucked back, swirling his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, and wrapping his fingers around the base of Mycroft’s cock. Another two minutes and Mycroft was tensing, groaning loudly and thrusting forward as he climaxed.

He came down Greg’s throat, fingers tightening in Greg’s hair as he shuddered. Greg sucked it all down, licking to clean Mycroft’s shaft before letting his boyfriend fall from his lips with a wet _pop_.

 

_Email from: sally.donovan@metpolice.org.uk_

_To: kathleen.mcewan@metpolice.org.uk_

_Yes, another one for the Mystraders! Mrs Hudson is going down!_

 

‘God,’ Mycroft moaned, sagging against the wall.

Greg wasn’t done yet and pushed himself against Mycroft to kiss him fiercely, Mycroft feeling complacent against him. Slowly one of Mycroft’s hands came up to pull at his belt and he managed to get Greg’s own trousers down.

Greg groaned as Mycroft’s slim fingers wrapped around his cock and began pulling, stroking quickly and thumbing the head to spread pre-come.

‘Fuck, Myc,’ he groaned, thrusting himself into his partner’s delicate touch.

Mycroft just twisted his fist, moving faster as he assaulted Greg’s mouth with his tongue, his lips.

Greg stumbled to the side, knees feeling weak, and grabbed the table. John’s laptop went tumbling off the edge but Mycroft grabbed it with his free hand, holding the computer tightly as he jerked his boyfriend.

‘F-fuck,’ Greg grunted loudly, planting both hands either side of Mycroft’s head on the wall. He let his head drop, eyes squeezed shut as he got closer and closer...

He came, gasping and pressing his forehead against Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft stroked him slowly, milking the climax until Greg shuddered through his release.

They both stood there panting, trying to catch their breath and blink back into reality.

‘You came on John’s laptop.’

Greg looked up to see that Mycroft was right. ‘Oh...’

Mycroft chuckled and gave him a soft kiss. ‘Not to worry, love.’ He pulled out his handkerchief and cleaned the laptop before placing it back on the table. He cleaned Greg too and they both zipped themselves up.

Suddenly the door opened and Greg turned.

‘Oh God, not again,’ Sherlock said, dumping the groceries on the floor.

Mycroft just adjusted his clothes and Greg grinned. ‘You started it.’

‘ _YOU_ STARTED IT!’ Sherlock bellowed.

‘Calm down,’ John said, looking around to try and figure out where they’d had sex.

‘Oh don’t worry, it was against the wall,’ Mycroft said and flashed John a smile. He pocketed his handkerchief and said, ‘Well... we’ll just be going.’

Sherlock glared at them as they edged out of the room, Greg giving him a wink before shutting the door. Sherlock turned to look around the room, sure it hadn’t just been the wall that had suffered.

His eyes settled on John’s laptop.

‘John?’

‘Mm?’ his boyfriend murmured, taking stuff out of the bags to put away.

‘One of them...’ Sherlock wet his lips before continuing, ‘... one of them climaxed on your laptop.’

John just stood there, staring at the little computer, bread in one hand.

‘John?’

‘That is just _wrong_!’ John shouted, throwing the loaf against the wall. ‘Why me? Why my stuff? This war is between you and Mycroft, why is _my_ stuff getting ruined? Mother fucking giant arsehole fucking _pricks_!’

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow.

‘That’s it, that’s it, I’m killing Mycroft,’ John said. ‘Where’s my gun?’

Sherlock chuckled and drew John in for a hug. ‘Calm down, love.’

‘No!’

‘I’m sure Mycroft will replace the laptop.’

‘That’s not the point,’ John sighed. ‘Why... they... bastards!’

Sherlock smiled and kissed him softly, John melting against him.

‘I suppose I can move on,’ he said and grinned, ‘if you think of a way to get Mycroft back.’

Sherlock just laughed. ‘Oh, John.’ He smiled. ‘I already have a plan.’

 

{oOo}

 

‘Sal!’

Sally Donovan turned to see another officer, Amelia Grimm, running towards her. ‘Mel, what’s up?’

‘Gotta go but I wanted to see you first,’ Amelia said and gave her a smile. ‘Put me down for Johnlock.’

Sally tutted. ‘Jeez, Dimmock has a big mouth.’

‘What? If I’m wrong you win.’

Sally chuckled and said, ‘Right, right. So Johnlock?’

‘Definitely.’

‘But his brother’s smarter, I don’t get why everyone’s going for the Freak and doc.’

‘Sherlock’s... Sherlock,’ Amelia shrugged. ‘I just reckon he’s eviller then his brother. The other one looks... nice.’

‘Have you ever met him?’

‘No,’ Amelia said and checked her watch. ‘Shit, gotta go. Keep me posted, yeah?’

‘I’m sending out an email to everyone involved in a few days.’

‘Sounds good!’ Amelia shouted as she ran.

Sally chuckled and pulled out her notebook, adding Amelia Grimm to the Johnlock column. Now she just had to find out a way to get information on the current status of the war.


	10. BlackBerry

‘This war has to stop.’

‘I’ll stop when you stop.’

‘You are being childish.’

‘Me? _Me_? You started this, Mycroft!’

‘No, I simply got lost in the heat of the moment and you took it as a personal insult.’

‘YOU HAD SEX IN JOHN’S CHAIR!’

‘Sherlock, what is it with you and John’s chair? I apologised, I had a new one delivered, what more do you want?’

‘I want you to go back in time and stop yourself from doing it.’

‘That is a paradox, Sherlock.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Shall I just go and hop in my TARDIS then?’

‘Gregory has warped you.’

‘Mm, yes.’

‘Mycroft, I will stop when you stop.’

‘I _have_ stopped.’

‘You had sex against my wall.’

‘No, I had _oral_ sex against your wall.’

‘Dear God, just kill me now.’

‘Sherlock–’

‘No, I’m done, kill me.’

‘Sherlock, you are being childish.’

‘Yes, well, why don’t you go back in time and change my entire personality?’

‘How would my going back in time change you?’

‘I’m upset, Mycroft.’

‘And?’

‘My brain is failing to function.’

‘That must be a first.’

‘You annoy me.’

‘Yes, I am aware of that.’

Sherlock scowled from the couch, plucking at his violin strings.

Mycroft smiled back, twirling his umbrella.

John just shook his head, sipping from his mug.

Greg sighed and checked his phone.

‘Child,’ Mycroft said.

‘Arsehole.’

‘Bastard.’

‘Prick.’

‘Now, now, Sherlock.’

‘You started it!’

‘Only because I knew you would call me an arsehole!’

John sighed and went into the kitchen, Greg following.

‘They’re never going to stop.’

‘No, probably not.’

‘This is your fault, I hope you know that.’

‘Me? What did I do?’

‘You had sex with Mycroft in my _chair_.’

‘God, I’m sorry, but he said _horny_.’

‘So? You’re a grown man, control yourself!’

‘Did you control yourself when you had sex in my car? And Mycroft’s?’

‘That was retaliation.’

‘That doesn’t mean you’re more mature then me.’

‘I hate you.’

‘Well good; I hate you too.’

The two men glared at each other.

‘Want me to go?’

‘Why? Gonna have sex in my bathroom now?’

‘I might; Mycroft likes bathrooms.’

‘Way too much information.’

‘Did you know we had to buy a whole new bed after yours and Sherlock’s little escapade?’

‘You started that and don’t deny it!’

‘Yeah, well...’

‘Sherlock’s only just started sleeping in there again.’

‘Poor boy.’

‘I’ll hit you, Greg.’

‘I dare you.’

‘I’ll remember that next time you want a drinking buddy.’

‘What? You’re the one who wants to hit me!’

‘MYCROFT!’ Sherlock shouted.

‘What did I do?’ his brother asked.

‘I HATE YOU!’

‘Lovely.’

Greg sighed. ‘I’ll be going.’

‘Good,’ John muttered.

Greg sighed again and looked the doctor over. ‘John, I don’t want this to affect our friendship. You’re like my best mate.’

John looked at him. ‘Yeah, yeah, just... don’t have sex in our bathroom, please? And not on the couch, Sherlock loves that couch.’

Greg smiled. ‘Okay, but only if you don’t have sex anywhere near or on Mycroft’s bookcases. I do not want him throwing all those books away, it’s a waste of money.’

‘Deal,’ John said and held out his hand.

They ran into the living room when they heard something fall. Sherlock had Mycroft against the wall, violin bow pressed to his neck. Mycroft just smiled pleasantly and used his umbrella to trip his brother, Sherlock falling onto the floor.

‘Gregory, lovely, we must be going,’ Mycroft said, smoothing down his jacket and walking to the door. ‘John, always a pleasure.’ He looked over his shoulder to see Sherlock sitting up, rubbing his head. ‘Brother.’

‘Go away!’ Sherlock shouted, wincing slightly.

‘Poor boy,’ Mycroft smiled and stepped from the flat. Greg smiled at John before following.

‘Did you hit your head?’ John asked.

‘I’m fine,’ Sherlock said.

‘Sherlock...’

The genius frowned and fell to flop onto the couch. John walked over and checked his head. ‘I hate him.’

‘I know, love.’

‘He annoys me.’

‘I know.’

‘I stole his BlackBerry.’ Sherlock held the phone aloft and John chuckled.

‘And what are you going to do with his BlackBerry?’

Sherlock turned to grin at him. ‘The real question, dear John, is what are we going to do with it?’

John smiled.

 

_Text from: Molly Hooper_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_I heard about the pool, I’m a Johnlock supporter._

 

{oOo}

 

‘So... like this?’ John shifted on the couch, leaning on his forearms. He was lying on his stomach, legs bent and heels resting against Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock had slipped into him already and his hips were still, arms on either side of John to hold up his weight.

‘Yes, I think this’ll work,’ Sherlock said. ‘The BlackBerry should be able to film this.’

‘You realise Mycroft is going to be scarred for life, right?’

‘He won’t watch it.’

‘So why–’

‘To prove a point, annoy my brother, and... I just think we’ll look good on TV.’ He smirked and bent down to kiss John’s back slowly, the doctor shivering beneath him.

‘You little exhibitionist.’

‘Mm.’

Sherlock began moving now, sliding out a little before going back in. John groaned softly and let his head drop, closing his eyes as he rutted against the couch, cock being rubbed in all the right places.

‘God, there,’ John groaned. ‘There, there, there.’

Sherlock smirked and snapped his hips, burying his cock deeper into John and hitting his prostate.

‘Sherlock,’ he mumbled, cussing as Sherlock did it again.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ Sherlock breathed before pressing a kiss to his ear.

‘Uh huh.’

‘Do you want me to...’ he rolled his hips, cock moving inside John and making the doctor grunt, ‘... do that again?’

‘Yes, God, yes!’

Sherlock grinned and started pulling out slowly.

‘Sherlock!’ John whined.

‘Mm?’

‘Stop!’

‘Stop fucking you?’

‘That... that’s not what I meant!’ John shouted, voice only getting louder when Sherlock pushed pack in. He started fucking John with abandon, licking at his boyfriend’s neck before sinking his teeth in. ‘Fuck, Sher...Sher...’

John could barely get any words out, instead pressing his face into his arms and pushing himself into the couch, getting that much needed friction to his shaft. He pushed his arse up as he did, begging Sherlock with his body.

Sherlock moved down John’s neck, biting at the skin he found and sucking back before moving on. He licked circles down John’s shoulder blades and across the scared tissue, loving that John was marked as a hero.

‘God, John, what you do to me,’ he breathed, pressing kisses to John’s ear and cheek. John managed to twist his body up, head coming around so he could kiss Sherlock properly. Their mouths were wet, lips sloppy and tongues licking at each other. They panted into each other’s mouths, John groaning when Sherlock hit his prostate again.

‘G-God,’ John moaned and dropped again to rub himself against the couch.

‘Should have... put a... towel down...’ Sherlock grunted as he fucked his partner, burying himself in deeply again and again.

‘N-next... t-t...’ John trailed off and arched up suddenly, nearly throwing Sherlock from him as he came. He shouted and cursed, cock leaking over the couch.

He tightened around Sherlock, who moaned and wrapped his arms around John’s waist. He thrust harder, fucking John as deeply as he could until–

Sherlock came with a loud moan, emptying into John and shuddering as he tried to ride the orgasm out as long as he could. John collapsed back onto the couch and Sherlock went with him, lying heavily across John’s back and panting.

‘Sher-lock?’ John managed to mumble after a few minutes, turning to try and find his boyfriend.

‘Mm?’ Sherlock grunted.

‘God.’

‘Mm.’

‘Gonna... stay there all day?’

‘Mm.’

John chuckled and lifted a hand to rub at Sherlock’s thigh. ‘Take your time... love...’

There was a pause before, ‘Mm.’

John smiled.

 

{oOo}

 

_Text from: Sally Donovan_

_To: Molly Hooper_

_Ah, another Johnlock supporter. There are too many of you guys._

 

There was a package sitting on Mycroft’s desk when he walked in. Frowning, he stepped back out. ‘Hazel?’

His assistant looked up from her desk. ‘Sir?’

‘When did this package arrive?’

‘About an hour ago,’ Anthea replied. ‘It’s been checked for explosives and bio-weapons.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘X-ray?’

‘It appears to be a phone.’

Mycroft frowned and puzzled over that as he sat down. It wasn’t until he’d opened the package that he realised it was his own BlackBerry, returned with a note from Sherlock Holmes.

 

_You should really look at the video files, brother, the camera is exceptional – S_

 

Mycroft breathed in deeply, calmed himself, and called for his assistant.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Please purchase me a new BlackBerry.’

Anthea raised an eyebrow. ‘Sir?’

‘I need a new BlackBerry,’ Mycroft said and pushed the package across the desk. ‘Please have this destroyed.’

Anthea peered into the box and saw her boss’ phone. Frowning, Anthea asked, ‘Sir?’

‘Just... have it destroyed immediately, please.’

Mycroft looked like he was about to be sick and Anthea took the package quickly. She sat at her own desk, putting the box aside to be destroyed when she had time. She paused before flicking through her own BlackBerry.

 

_You’ve made him sick – A_

 

The reply came while she was setting fire to the package. She picked up her BlackBerry and chuckled.

 

**Serves him right. The footage was good, though – SH**

 

Anthea smiled.


	11. Bow

_Text from: Sherlock Holmes_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_I’ve heard you have a pool going about this war between my brother and me._

_SH_

 

It took Greg twenty minutes to realise Mycroft was staring at him. It was midday on Saturday and both men had the day off. They were on the couch taking a break from tumbling across their bed, Greg with his feet up on the coffee table, Mycroft’s head on his lap. The politician had been reading but Greg realised his boyfriend was now staring at him rather than his book.

‘Boring?’ Greg asked.

‘No,’ Mycroft said, fidgeting with the pages. ‘ _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy_ is quite interesting.’

‘Then why are you looking at me?’ Greg asked, looking over the top of his own book. ‘I’ve been trying to finish Harry Potter for ages and I can’t concentrate with you staring at me.’

Mycroft said, ‘I was just... thinking.’

‘About?’

‘This war with Sherlock.’

Greg smiled. ‘No, you were probably thinking about me naked.’

Mycroft chuckled and said, ‘Yes, okay, I was. The two kind of go together, don’t they?’

‘Mm, I suppose.’ When Mycroft didn’t say anything, Greg lowered _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ again. ‘You were thinking about fucking me somewhere that would annoy Sherlock, weren’t you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Out with it, Myc,’ Greg said, ‘I’m nearly done with this and then I can finally start on the seventh one.’

‘You already know what happens.’

‘That’s not the point.’

Mycroft smiled and flipped his book shut, shifting to look at Greg better. ‘I was thinking about that time we used your handcuffs.’

Greg raised his eyebrows. ‘Yeah?’

‘Mm.’

Greg smiled, remembering that night well. He’d been cuffed to the headboard and Mycroft had smacked his arse raw before finally fucking him hard. It was the night Mycroft showed Gregory Lestrade that the DI quite liked being smacked about a bit.

‘Hmm...’

‘Hmm?’ Mycroft echoed.

‘Just... now I’m thinking about it.’ Mycroft chuckled. ‘Wait, what’s that got to do with the war with Sherlock?’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Well... he owns that lovely violin bow.’

Greg felt all the blood in his body rush to his crotch. He just sat there, staring at Mycroft, imaging the tall politician whipping him with that bow...

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘Gregory?’ Mycroft said, sitting up quickly and looking at his partner. ‘I’m sorry, did you not–’

Greg grabbed Mycroft’s hand and forced it to his crotch. Mycroft felt the older man’s erection through his tracksuit pants and smiled.

‘I take that to mean yes?’

‘Yes,’ Greg nodded, ‘definitely yes; please hit me with that bow and fuck me... yes, yes, yes!’

‘I get it, Gregory.’

‘Do you?’ Greg said and chucked his book across the coffee table. ‘Now.’

‘Now?’

Greg nodded, dragging Mycroft up. ‘I don’t care how, just get Sherlock and John out of there. Because you are forcing me up against one of their windows, smacking me with that goddamn bow, and then fucking me until I come.’

Mycroft’s mouth fell open before he grabbed his BlackBerry, tapping away to do whatever it was he did to get what he wanted.

 

_Text From: Sally Donovan_

_To: Sherlock Holmes_

_... maybe._

 

221B was empty (if you didn’t count Mrs Hudson, who no doubt had her ear pressed to the door) and Mycroft led Greg in. He stopped in the middle of the living room and turned to face his boyfriend.

‘Now, Gregory, what _am_ I going to do with you?’

‘Whatever you want,’ Greg said, Mycroft’s commanding tone going straight to his crotch. They rarely did the whole dom/sub thing, or even spanking, but sometimes Greg liked to be put in his place. And Mycroft Holmes was the perfect man to do that.

‘Strip,’ Mycroft ordered.

Greg did so slowly, knowing Mycroft liked to watch. The DI folded his clothes and placed them on the couch before turning to face Mycroft, cock already erect and head glistening with pre-come.

‘My, my, look how excited you are,’ Mycroft said and stepped forward. He stopped just short of Greg, suit briefly rubbing against the older man and making him moan. ‘Now, now, Gregory, there’s a time and place for those kinds of noises.’

‘And those would be?’ Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘Erm, sorry, sir.’

‘Better,’ Mycroft said. ‘But I still think you need to be punished.’ He grabbed Greg by the shoulders, forcing the man onto his knees.

‘God, yes.’

‘Now see, I was going to fuck your mouth but you went and spoke without being asked.’ Mycroft moved away and Greg had to force himself not to whine; it’d only make Mycroft move slower.

The politician busied himself in the corner, leaving Greg on his knees, the carpet biting into his skin. When he finally came back he was holding Sherlock’s bow.

 

_Text From: Sherlock Holmes_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_Dimmock has a big mouth, Sally. Put me in, Team Johnlock. Truly horrible, by the way, you and Mrs Hudson have no imagination._

_SH_

 

Greg had to clamp a hand over his mouth. Though he’d seen the bow a hundred times (and been smacked/prodded with it before) in Mycroft Holmes’ hand the thing was goddamn sexy.

‘What do you think, Gregory?’ Mycroft asked, running a finger over the wooden stick. He brought it to Greg’s chin, making the DI tilt his head up. ‘You may answer.’

‘I think in your hands it’s beautiful, sir.’

Mycroft smiled, satisfied. ‘Very good.’

Slowly, he stroked the tip down Greg’s neck, the DI shuddering but keeping quiet. He closed his eyes as Mycroft ran the bow across his chest, circling both nipples before suddenly pulling back. Greg’s eyes opened and he gasped when Mycroft slapped him lightly, the tip of the bow digging into his skin with a lovely sharpness.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes,’ Greg nodded.

‘We stop whenever you want, Gregory,’ Mycroft said, ‘remember that.’

‘I will, sir.’

He smiled and went back to stroking Greg’s body, moving down to his crotch. When the bow reached his cock, Mycroft turned it to rub Greg’s shaft with the horsehairs.

‘Why is it sticky?’ Greg asked before he could stop himself.

Mycroft smiled. ‘Sherlock must have oiled it recently.’

‘You have to oil a bow?’

‘To keep the friction.’

‘Right...’

‘Did you know they typically use between one hundred and fifty and two hundred horse hairs for a violin–’

‘Myc, is any of that going to matter when you hit me with it?’

‘No.’

‘Well then I don’t care.’

‘Do you realise how expensive bows are?’

‘And?’

‘Sherlock will kill us when he finds out.’

‘So don’t break the bow.’

‘He’ll know.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing.’

 

_Text From: Sally Donovan_

_To: Sherlock Holmes_

_Are you serious?_

 

Greg grinned and looked up at his boyfriend. ‘So, Mr Holmes,’ he said slowly and Mycroft smiled. ‘What would you like me to do?’

‘Hmm...’ Mycroft murmured and paced back and forth, playing with the violin bow. It somehow looked sexual in his long, thin fingers, the way he touched the wooden handle, or skimmed his fingers along the waxy horse hair.

He moved to stand behind Greg, the DI biting his lip to stop from turning.

‘This is called the frog,’ Mycroft said, running the handle along Greg’s lower back. ‘I’m not going to hit you with this part, it would hurt too much.’

‘Uh huh.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘I think I’ll hit you with the stick; the horse hair would break and we wouldn’t want that.’

‘N-No, suppose not,’ Greg said, the words tumbling from his mouth as lust threatened to break him completely.

‘What do you want, Gregory?’

‘W-Whatever you want,’ Greg said and licked his lips slowly.

 

_Text From: Sherlock Holmes_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_Yes, “Johnlock” is a horrible name, why does John get to be first? And why is his entire name used yet only half of mine?_

_SH_

 

Mycroft smiled and shifted behind Greg, moving to hold the bow in his left hand. He tisked slightly, running the tip along Greg’s spine. ‘What my mother would say if she saw this.’

‘Huh?’ was all Greg managed.

‘She tried to have me learn the violin and when that failed the cello. Unfortunately I cannot play like Sherlock. The piano has always been my instrument.’ He paused to dig the tip of the bow into Greg’s shoulder, the DI grunted softly. ‘It seems a shame now; I can’t exactly hit you with a piano.’

Greg giggled and Mycroft smiled, once more moving the bow down until it was skimming over Greg’s buttocks.

 

_Text From: Sally Donovan_

_To: Sherlock Holmes_

_No, I meant do you really want to be in the pool?_

 

‘God, Myc.’

‘Did I say you could speak?’ Mycroft demanded, giving Greg’s right cheek a light slap.

Greg grunted. ‘S-sorry.’

‘Better but you must be punished for your insolence.’ He paused before asking, ‘Ready for a harder smack?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Mycroft nodded even though Greg couldn’t see him and put his left hand on Greg’s shoulder. He gave him a quick squeeze before drawing the bow back and smacking Greg harder than before.

A slap rang out and Greg groaned loudly, nearly falling forward but being held up by Mycroft’s hand.

‘Again?’

Greg nodded.

Mycroft whipped his other cheek, leaving a nice red strip against Greg’s pale skin. The DI grunted again but didn’t flinch, just breathed through his nose. Mycroft whipped him four times in succession, two smacks to each cheek.

Greg fell forward, landing on his hands and groaning loudly.

‘Okay, love?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Y-yes, sir.’

‘How does it feel?’

‘Fucking fantastic.’

Mycroft smiled and poked the tip of the bow between Greg’s cheeks, rubbing up and down his crack. Greg bit his lip and whimpered, forehead pressed to the carpet.

‘Ah, ah,’ Mycroft said and dragged him up. Greg allowed Mycroft to push him against one of the windows, hands above his head, legs spread. ‘Didn’t you say something about wanting to be fucked against a window?’

‘Uh... uh-huh,’ Greg nodded.

Mycroft smiled and drew an arm around Greg’s chest, rubbing the bow’s horsehair against the DI’s dripping shaft.

 

_Text From: Sherlock Holmes_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_Yes._

_SH_

 

‘What do you want, Gregory?’ Mycroft breathed against his ear, suit pressed into his boyfriend’s back. He thrust his crotch forward, trapped cock nudging Greg’s red arse.

‘Y-You.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm... do you think you’ve received enough punishment?’

‘God no,’ Greg said before licking his lips. He turned to face Mycroft, mouths millimetres from each other. ‘Sir.’

Mycroft smiled and grabbed his chin, pulling Greg forward. Their lips met in a fierce, wet kiss, Greg groaning as Mycroft swiped his tongue along his bottom lip. Mycroft forced his lips open and plundered Greg’s mouth, claiming the DI as his own in that one simple gesture.

Their kissing was sloppy, wet, very loud as Mycroft forced Greg against the window, the cold glass making Greg gasp.

‘The noises you make,’ Mycroft whispered, peppering kisses along Greg’s jaw. ‘What they do to me.’ He licked down Greg’s neck, sinking his teeth into Greg’s shoulder before whipping the DI on the thigh.

Greg grunted, legs feeling weak as Mycroft pulled back. He landed a few more blows against Greg’s back, his arse, before digging the tip of the bow into Greg’s back. He raked down hard, leaving a deep, red line down the DI’s spine.

‘Fuck, Mycroft.’

‘Again?’

‘Yes, please.’

Mycroft raked the bow down Greg’s back and soon there were half a dozen lines, Greg’s skin stinging pleasantly and making his cock ache. The pain, the knowledge that he was at the mercy of Mycroft, had Greg feeling light headed and more aroused than ever before.

‘Fuck, I need you, please.’

‘On your knees, I need lubricant.’

Greg turned and dropped to the floor, looking up at Mycroft with hungry, lust-filled eyes. Mycroft moved slowly, tucking the bow under one arm as he undid his belt. Greg was close to drooling when Mycroft finally pulled his cock out, stroking his shaft a few times before grabbing Greg by the back of the head.

Greg opened his mouth wide and groaned when Mycroft sunk into his mouth, quickly burying himself up to the base of his cock. His ginger pubic hair tickled Greg’s nose and cut off his air supply but Mycroft pulled back before thrusting back in.

Breathing through his nose, Greg reached up to grab Mycroft’s hips, sucking back greedily and hollowing his cheeks.

‘I’m going to whip you,’ Mycroft warned a second before slamming the wood into Greg’s arse.

The DI jumped but kept his jaw relaxed so he didn’t hurt Mycroft, the sharp sting and the cock in his mouth making him, if possible, even harder than before.

‘I didn’t say you could use your hands, Gregory,’ Mycroft chided. He grabbed Greg’s hands, lifting them above his head and holding his wrists together with one hand. The other came back to Greg’s head, fingers fisting in the DI’s grey hair and pulling him forward, the bow digging into the back of his head.

Greg groaned as Mycroft fucked his mouth, cock hitting the back of his throat and cutting off oxygen. Greg just breathed through his nose when Mycroft pulled out, swirling his tongue around the head of Mycroft’s cock and tasting pre-come.

‘God, Gregory,’ Mycroft moaned, digging the tip of the bow into Greg’s thigh.

‘Mmf,’ Greg replied, sucking back hard, Mycroft drooping slightly.

Suddenly Mycroft was pulling out, cock falling from Greg’s mouth with a wet pop. Greg groaned as he was pulled to his feet and turned, once more made to press his hands against the window.

Mycroft whipped Greg’s arse quickly, the DI’s knees threatening to buckle. And then Mycroft was dropping the bow and sinking to his knees, hands caressing Greg’s burning arse softly. His tongue lapped at Greg’s hole, the older man groaning as Mycroft sunk his tongue right into his entrance.

Greg couldn’t help but thrust back and Mycroft gripped his arse, licking at his hole and fucking Greg with his tongue.

‘M-Myc... n-need... you,’ Greg whimpered.

Mycroft stood back up and rubbed Greg’s arse before grabbing the DI’s chin and making him twist to exchange heated kisses.

‘Okay?’ Mycroft murmured.

‘Please, just fuck me,’ Greg begged, too desperate to worry about being punished.

‘Oh, Gregory,’ Mycroft smiled and grabbed his cock. He eased into Greg’s tight entrance, forcing the DI’s legs further apart and bending him so he could be fucked.

Greg groaned loudly. ‘Jesus Christ.’

 

_Text From: Sally Donovan_

_To: Sherlock Holmes_

_Okay then, you’re in._

 

Mycroft didn’t start slow; he went straight into long, hard thrusts, burying himself into his boyfriend again and again. He wrapped one hand around Greg’s cock and stroked in time with his thrusts, snapping his hips to get at Greg’s prostate.

Greg tried to hold out, really he did. But the subbing and whipping and face-fucking and rimming and...

...he came with a loud shout, going weak and falling. Mycroft held him up, continuing to fuck Greg through his climax, the DI just whimpering and letting himself go limp.

Mycroft tipped over the edge, coming long and hard inside his boyfriend. Both men panted heavily as Mycroft slipped out and slowly lowered Greg to the floor.

Back pressed to the window, Mycroft drew Greg in softly, brushing his hair from his sweaty face.

‘Greg?’

‘Ngh...’

‘You okay?’

‘Ye...’ Greg swallowed, trying to get his tongue to work as his mind continued to roll about in a hazy bliss. ‘Ya-ye-yeah...’ he finally managed to gurgle, making Mycroft smile.

‘Sleep, love,’ he whispered and kissed Greg softly.

Greg had already nodded off.

 

{oOo}

 

‘ _Hey, Sally._ ’

‘Who’s this?’

‘ _Pft, nice way to say hi to a mate._ ’

‘... Brittney?’

‘ _Brittney Ryan, in the flesh... well, on the phone, anyway._ ’

‘What’s up, Brit? Need some more help on a case?’

‘ _Ha, ha, you’re a riot, Sal._ ’

‘I don’t have all day.’

‘ _Working for Lestrade’s made you sullen._ ’

‘Has not.’

‘ _Has._ ’

‘What are we, twelve?’

‘ _Maybe._ ’

‘Brittney...’

‘ _So I’ve heard on the grapevine that those Holmes boys have finally lost it._ ’

‘That’s old news.’

‘ _And this war they have going?_ ’

‘Well that’s fairly new.’

‘ _And...?_ ’

‘You can bet on either team, Mystrade or Johnlock, or a tie.’

‘ _What?_ ’

‘Mycroft and Lestrade make Mystrade, John and Sherlock make Johnlock.’

‘ _Oh, right._ ’

‘That really wasn’t complicated.’

‘ _Shut it, woman._ ’

‘I take that to mean you want in?’

‘ _Yes._ ’

‘Apologise for acting like a prat and I might just consider it.’

‘ _... fine, fine, I apologise._ ’

‘Good. Now what team?’

‘ _Mystrade._ ’

‘Yes! That old woman is _so_ going down.’

‘ _Have you lost it?_ ’

‘Maybe.’

‘ _Ha, well, I gotta go, crime doesn’t solve its self._ ’

‘And you won’t solve it either.’

‘ _Oh, give that girl a medal, she’s amazingly hilarious._ ’

‘Bye, Brittney.’

‘ _Seeya, Sal._ ’

 

{oOo}

 

_Text From: Unknown Number_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_Team Mystrade, dear Sergeant._

_MH_

 

Sherlock was in "thinking mode" and needed something to do as his brain tried to process the information he had received. He paced for a bit, threw a pillow, and licked the back of John’s neck before finally settling on pulling out his violin.

He stood with it in his slim fingers, plucking at the strings as he stared at the wall. A few minutes later he turned to take his bow–

– and froze.

John was sitting in his armchair, new laptop (courtesy of Mycroft Holmes) on his knees and a mug of tea warming his hands. ‘Sherlock?’

Sherlock continued to stare at his bow.

‘Sherlock? Hello?’

Suddenly Sherlock grabbed a newspaper, wrapped it around the bow, and threw the entire thing out the open window. John stared as his boyfriend fell onto the couch, curling up and clutching his violin to his chest.

‘Sherlock?’

The genius began plucking the strings, glaring at the wall and ignoring John completely.

‘Erm...’ John said before shrugging and going back to his blog. Sherlock scowled all night.


	12. Umbrella

_Text to: Sally Donovan_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_Hey, I’ve spread the word and got some more people to join the pool;_

_Slone Egan down in Robbery: Mystrade_

_Rhi Jones, the new DI who sits behind me: Johnlock_

_Mike Stamford (knows Watson, contacted me through Sherlock Holmes): Johnlock._

 

Sherlock waited. And waited. And then, after that, he waited some more. He waited until his brother and friend were asleep before sneaking in. The password had been changed (January 6, Sherlock’s birthday; honestly, Mycroft had _no_ imagination whatsoever) but Sherlock got in easily.

He pulled a small pen-torch from his pocket and flicked it on, looking around by the door. No, not there.

‘Damn,’ Sherlock murmured, moving into the living room. He knew Mycroft was prone to throwing whatever he had in his hands across the room to get at Gregory Lestrade.

After a thorough search, Sherlock sneaked down the hallway towards his brother’s and Greg’s room, making sure to keep his footsteps quiet. He knew Anthea would be alerted to someone entering the flat and had to move quick; Mycroft couldn’t catch him now.

He pushed the door open quietly and peered around.

Mycroft and Greg were asleep, the DI wrapped around Mycroft tightly, snoring into his shoulder. Mycroft had his head buried in his pillow, legs twisted in the sheets and mouth mumbling silent words.

Sherlock checked by the door before moving further in, looking at the sleeping couple every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t been seen.

Finally, Sherlock spotted what he’d come for under Mycroft’s clothes. He wrinkled his nose as he nudged his brother’s underwear aside before grabbing his prize.

Mycroft shifted in bed, body always prepared for an attack even while his mind slept; one of the downfalls of having a brother who _was_ the British Government was that he was trained in a dozen different ways to kill you quickly and silently.

Sherlock backed out of the room before Mycroft could wake, tiptoeing through the flat and back out the front door–

– where he ran right into Anthea.

‘Jesus!’

‘Hello, Mr Holmes.’

‘Don’t sneak up on people like that!’

‘I didn’t sneak up on anyone,’ Anthea smirked, eyes on her BlackBerry.

Sherlock scowled. ‘Well... I’ll just be going.’

‘Is that yours?’ she asked, pointing at the object Sherlock held tightly.

‘Yes, I was just retrieving it.’

‘Really? It looks an awful lot like–’

‘What do I have to do to keep you quiet?’ Sherlock demanded.

Slowly Anthea looked up at him.

And grinned evilly.

_This..._ Sherlock thought as Anthea lowered her BlackBerry, _cannot be good._

 

{oOo}

 

_Text From: Sally Donovan_

_To: Mike Dimmock_

_Cheers for that. Wow, this thing is getting big._

 

‘Sherlock...’ John asked slowly, ‘how the hell are we supposed to incorporate an umbrella into our sex life?’

Sherlock just stared at the object, tilting his head slightly.

‘Sherlock? You listening?’

Sherlock stared.

‘That’s a no, then,’ John sighed and sat on the couch. Sherlock was perched on the coffee table, Mycroft’s umbrella in his hands. He spun it a few times before running his fingers over the nylon. The way he held it, the way he fingered the handle and twisted to see the entire length... was it possible for the act of looking at an umbrella to be sexy?

Sherlock ran his right hand over the entire length of the umbrella before twisting it to look at the tip. He shrugged and gave a small head shake, like he’d thought of something but dismissed it himself. John just watched as his boyfriend’s long, thin fingers wrapped around the middle of the umbrella before going down its length again.

John swallowed, pants suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight. He knew what those fingers were like, what they could do when wrapped around certain body parts.

Sherlock was seemingly oblivious of what his little act was doing to John. He slipped off the table to sit in John’s armchair, crossing his legs and placing the umbrella across his lap. He ran his index finger along the handle, stroking all the way around the curled wood to the very tip. John nearly groaned and shifted on the couch, eyes fixated on his boyfriend. That wasn’t normal, right? People didn’t touch umbrellas like that.

Sherlock pinched the tip of the umbrella and John groaned. The consulting detective turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘John?’

‘Huh?’ John blinked, eyes focusing on his partner. ‘What?’

‘What are you doing?’

Sherlock’s eyes were down and John followed his line of sight. It was then that he realised he’d been palming his crotch, cock hard and straining against his jeans.

He quickly removed his hand and turned away, face burning red. ‘N-Nothing.’

‘You were touching yourself while I played with Mycroft’s umbrella.’

‘No I wasn’t.’

‘You were.’

John refused to look at him. Sherlock got up and moved until he was standing directly in front of John again. Slowly, Sherlock gripped the tip of the umbrella before pulling, hand stroking down he object in one long, gentle touch. John’s mouth fell open and he nearly groaned again, mind filled with memories of Sherlock’s long, thin fingers wrapped around his cock, squeezing and pulling and tugging...

‘Jesus,’ John moaned when Sherlock rubbed the umbrella down his thigh before moving back up to his own crotch.

‘John?’

‘Huh?’

Sherlock smiled and held out his hand. ‘Come with me.’

John had no choice but to comply, mind too far gone for anything but his boyfriend’s touch. Sherlock squeezed his hand tightly and grabbed John’s jacket, handing it to the doctor before tugging on his own.

Sherlock took John’s hand again and, holding the umbrella in the other, pulled John downstairs.

They walked for a few minutes before Sherlock tugged is boyfriend into an alleyway, looking around before smiling.

‘Sherlock?’

‘Against the wall,’ Sherlock said and pushed hard, making John stumble and hit the bricks.

‘What are you doing?’

Sherlock pressed himself against John, the doctor groaning as their trapped erections were forced together.

‘Sh-Sherlock...’

Sherlock slowly raised the umbrella, not stopping until it was sitting against both their chins. He leaned forward and captured John’s lips in his own, forcing his tongue into John’s mouth to taste everything he could, explore everything there was to explore. John was little more than a compliant body, feeling weak as Sherlock pressed up against him and plundered his mouth.

When they broke apart John was panting heavily, staring at Sherlock with lust-blown eyes.

‘What are you–’

Suddenly the umbrella was forced into his mouth, nylon tasting of dirt and salt and a heap of things John didn’t even want to think about. His mind was sidetracked, though, when Sherlock dropped to tug his jeans open.

‘Ferl-lock!’ John grunted, trying to speak and spit the fabric out at the same time. And then Sherlock’s mouth was there, on his cock, teeth scraping and tongue swirling and good Lord now his wet finger was in John’s arse! ‘Goff,’ he moaned loudly, head forced back as Sherlock pushed the umbrella against his mouth even harder than before.

‘Shh, John,’ Sherlock murmured as he let his boyfriend’s cock fall from his lips. He licked long, wet strips up John’s shaft, lapping at the head and swallowing pre-ejaculate. ‘There’s a CCTV camera to our right; Mycroft’s security team will record all of this.’

John groaned around the umbrella.

‘I want my brother to regret the day he took my violin bow.’

John tried to fight him, to push Sherlock off, but damn that man had a talented tongue. He took John in again, sucking back hard and making John shudder.

‘I’m going to make you come,’ Sherlock said, suckling John’s balls before nipping at his stomach. ‘I’m going to make you come all over this lovely umbrella.’

John moaned and he fisted his hands in Sherlock’s hair, pulling his boyfriend in and slamming his cock deep into Sherlock’s throat.

He was done fighting; there was no winning with the Holmeses. He’d let Sherlock do whatever he wanted as long as the man’s mouth stayed on his cock.

Sherlock sucked back and wrapped his free hand around the bottom of John’s shaft, squeezing and twisting his wrist up John’s length every time he pulled back.

‘Goff,’ John moaned again, umbrella muffling his words. ‘F-fo...cwoff...’

Sherlock took that to mean ‘so close’ and sucked harder, adding teeth and pulling back.

John came down his throat, shuddering and thrusting deeply in an aim to get more friction. Sherlock relaxed his jaw and let John’s come trickle down his throat, swallowing when John pulled out slowly. He licked John clean, the doctor leaning heavily against the wall, eyes closed.

Sherlock stood slowly and licked his lips, loving the taste of John. ‘Hmm, I didn’t make you come on the umbrella.’ He removed it and John managed a weak chuckle.

‘Well...’ he said slowly, ‘we’ll have to change that.’ He raised an eyebrow and Sherlock smirked, shifting to open the umbrella. He handed it to John, who held the object in slightly shaky hands as Sherlock did up his jeans and belt.

John pushed off the wall and kissed Sherlock sloppily, licking his way into his boyfriend’s mouth. They turned until it was Sherlock pressed against the wall, belt being undone and trousers dropping around his ankles.

John stood tall and moved the umbrella to his right hand, shielding Sherlock and himself from view. Sherlock looked over the top of the umbrella and directly into the CCTV camera across the road. He smirked before looking back at John.

John dropped to his knees, keeping the umbrella up as he hungrily took Sherlock into his mouth. Sherlock groaned and pumped his hips, fucking John’s mouth quickly, swiftly, fisting his hands in his boyfriend’s hair to pull him closer.

John relaxed his jaw, his throat, and closed as his eyes as Sherlock pounded into his mouth, snapping his hips to get just that little bit deeper. John swallowed every time Sherlock’s cock slipped down his throat, stimulating Sherlock’s head and swallowing pre-come.

‘J-John!’ Sherlock groaned loudly and John stood quickly. He wrapped his left hand around Sherlock’s shaft and began pulling, leaning forward to kiss Sherlock at the same time. ‘G-God,’ the genius moaned, ‘gonna... can’t...’

He came with a silent scream, mouth falling open and eyes squeezed shut. He shook before slouching against the wall, panting and trying to blink through the haze.

John bent to lick his boyfriend clean before doing up Sherlock’s trousers and belt. When he stood again he smirked.

‘W-What?’ Sherlock asked.

‘You came on the umbrella,’ John said and held it up.

Sherlock chuckled and drew John in for a kiss, pushing their bodies together and pressing his lips to John’s.

 

{oOo}

 

_Post By: John Watson_

_Subject: Pool_

_Content: Sally Donovan, if you read this, I’m Johnlock, and so’s Sarah. Rory is Mystrade (They both work with me)._

 

John looked up from his laptop. Sherlock was lazing across him, back on John’s knees, the laptop moving every time Sherlock shifted.

‘Stop moving.’

‘Mm.’

‘Sherlock–’

‘I’m not a table,’ Sherlock yawned, rolling over. John grabbed his laptop, lifting it free as Sherlock curled his lanky frame around John’s stockier body. He smiled and put his laptop on Sherlock’s side as the genius’ breathing began to grow heavier.

 

_Comment From: Sally Donovan_

_Subject: Re: Pool_

_Content: No worries, Doc. Glad to see you’ve got a sense of humour ;)_

 

John bent down to press a kiss to Sherlock, getting a snore in return. He grinned and went back to typing, Sherlock nuzzling into his side in his sleep.

 

{oOo}

 

Mycroft took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and not fly into a homicidal rage.

‘Well...’ Greg said slowly, ‘you gotta admit, your brother’s good.’

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft sighed.

‘What? You took his bow, he took your umbrella.’

‘Gregory, please.’

‘He’s very good at getting revenge.’

‘Greg!’

Greg smiled and pulled Mycroft in for a hug, running his fingers through Mycroft’s hair. ‘Myc, what have I said about losing your temper?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I said don’t.’

‘When?’

‘Mycroft...’

‘I demand an exact date and time when you told me not to lose my temper.’

Greg sighed and pulled back to place a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. ‘Myc, calm down, m’kay?’

‘No.’

‘Mycroft, if you calm down, I _might_ just do that thing you like.’

Mycroft looked at him carefully. ‘What... what thing?’

Greg grinned and leaned up to whisper in his ear. ‘You know, with my finger... and my tongue...’ Mycroft shivered and gulped. ‘And then I use my lips–’

Mycroft grabbed his boyfriend, hauling him in for a fierce kiss, tongue sloppy and body hot.

‘God, Myc,’ Greg groaned and started dragging his boyfriend to their bedroom. But Mycroft pulled back, panting heavily. ‘What?’

‘I... I need to call Anthea and have it removed.’

Greg groaned. ‘Fine.’

Mycroft pulled out his phone and texted quickly. ‘Done.’

Greg grinned and dragged Mycroft down the hallway by his tie. Neither cared that the front door was open. Who’d want to come in, anyway?

Sherlock had taped the soiled umbrella to their front door.


	13. Jumper

‘So, you wanna be in the Pool?’

‘No.’

‘Come on, Anderson.’

‘No, Sal.’

‘It’s just a bit of fun.’

‘I honestly don’t care who wins.’

‘You’re boring, you know that?’

‘I am not!’

‘Yeah you are.’

‘I am _not_ betting on those people.’

‘Why not?’

‘What if they find out? They’ll kills us all, especially Lestrade’s boyfriend.’

‘Nah, they’re in it.’

‘They are?’

‘Yup. Come on, Anderson.’

‘No.’

‘God you’re boring!’

‘Go away.’

‘Prat.’

 

{oOo}

 

_Text From: Cara Pearson_

_To: Mike Dimmock_

_Hey, tell Sally I’m in; Mystrade all the way baby!_

 

Mycroft hadn’t forgotten the umbrella. No, no, _no_. Mycroft Holmes would _never_ forget what his brother and... _friend_ , had done to his lovely umbrella. It didn’t take him long to figure out a suitable revenge attack. And while he really didn’t want to upset John any more, the doctor had played his part in destroying Mycroft’s umbrella.

He deserved to be punished as much as Sherlock.

Which was why Greg got home to find Mycroft sitting on the couch, legs folded, playing with a red and black striped jumper.

He raised an eyebrow as he dropped his keys by the door, kicking off his shoes as he approached Mycroft. ‘Love?’

‘Mm?’ Mycroft murmured, turning the jumper in his hands.

‘Is that–’

‘One of John’s jumpers?’ Mycroft cut him off. ‘Yes.’

Greg frowned. ‘Okay...’ he said slowly. ‘Er... why?’

Mycroft looked up at him and smiled slowly. ‘Why?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I took this jumper, Gregory,’ Mycroft said slowly, fingering one of the sleeves, ‘so that you could use it to tie my hands behind my back, force me against the couch, and fuck me hard until I come.’

Greg’s mouth dropped open and his cock twitched. It twitched a whole heap as Mycroft stood and removed his jacket.

‘Would that interest you?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Uh... y-yeah,’ Greg nodded, watching Mycroft slowly drape his waistcoat with his jacket over the couch.

‘That’s lovely,’ Mycroft said, dropping the jumper only long enough to undress completely. Greg watched with rapt attention as his boyfriend toed off his shoes and socks, long, thin fingers unbuckling his belt. He swallowed hard when Mycroft shimmied from his trousers gracefully, folding and placing them on the couch.

‘Uh...’

‘Yes?’ Mycroft questioned, eyebrow raised as he undid his shirt.

‘That’s... my job,’ Greg said, trying to sound sterner.

Mycroft smiled. ‘Well, Detective Inspector, what _shall_ I do?’

Greg swallowed again and approached Mycroft slowly. ‘Um... underwear, take those off.’

Mycroft did, again folding them atop his other clothes. He stood before Greg still in his half-unbuttoned shirt, erection standing tall and leaking pre-come.

‘Now... unbutton your shirt,’ Greg said, feeling arousal spread through him as he watched Mycroft’s pale fingers udo his expensive shirt. ‘Leave it on.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but did as asked, letting the expensive cotton hang open. Greg had already torn off his coat and jacket, slipping off his socks as he got closer to Mycroft. The taller man just watched in silence, erection throbbing but body completely still. Greg got most of his clothes off but left his trousers on.

‘Knees,’ he ordered. Mycroft complied, looking up at Greg with bright blue eyes, eyelashes thick and black and making him look so goddamn adorable. ‘Um...’ Greg lost his train of thought before blinking, ‘... undo my belt.’

Mycroft did, purposely brushing his palms along the bulge in Greg’s pants. The DI shivered and Mycroft smirked.

Greg grabbed the back of his head, yanking Mycroft so he looked up at him. ‘Now, now, none of that.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Detective Inspector.’

Greg smirked. ‘You should be.’

 

_Text From: Eva Rijsdijk_

_To: Martha Hudson_

_I heard down the grapevine that you have some strange pool going on about that weird bloke you have living in 221B. I think his name is Sherlock? Well I’ll go for him, the way that doctor goes on about him it seems only right that he’ll win. Tea soon?_

 

Greg’s fingers tightened in Mycroft’s hair and the politician gasped. A low moan erupted from his throat afterwards and he tugged on Greg’s trousers.

‘Ah, ah, all in good time,’ Greg teased. ‘Turn around, hands on the couch.’

Mycroft did as asked, shuffling across the rug to press his forearms to the leather, hands down.

‘Now the shirt; take it off slowly.’

Mycroft removed the expensive fabric, the moves graceful and erotic as he slipped the shirt free. He folded it neatly and placed it with his other clothes before moving back into position, body now completely naked. He looked over his shoulder at Greg, who was just staring at him.

Mycroft was beautiful; there was no other word. His shoulders and neck were wonderfully freckled, delicious little dots that Greg loved to run his tongue over. He was very pale, his back curving down to a very sexy arse that made Greg’s mouth water. Strong, pale thighs, gorgeous long legs, toes curled where they rested on the rug. A wonderful head of ginger-brown hair that curled when Mycroft was asleep or just out of the shower or really, really tired.

‘Greg?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg smiled and pressed a warm hand to Mycroft’s back. The taller man shivered as, slowly, Greg ran his palm down his back, ending with running his fingers lightly over the top of Mycroft’s buttocks.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft moaned, eyes shut and lips slightly parted.

‘Yes, beautiful?’

‘I... please.’

‘Please what?’

Mycroft swallowed. ‘I need you.’

‘Not right now you don’t.’

Mycroft moaned and let his head drop. Greg knew he wasn’t really upset; the hardness of his cock was enough to tell Greg that the politician was getting off on this. Greg pressed his body against Mycroft’s, his boyfriend shivering at the touch of his belt, his shirt.

‘Now, now, love,’ Greg whispered in his ear, letting his lips press delicately to Mycroft’s skin. ‘Just wait a second.’

Mycroft moaned and dropped his head, shuffling back to try and press into Greg more.

Greg drew back, Mycroft whimpering. Slowly he unbuttoned his own shirt, knowing Mycroft wanted to look back at him. He pulled his shirt off and let it brush against Mycroft but he threw it over the couch. He removed his trousers and underwear in the same fashion, Mycroft shivering each time the delicate cloth skimmed over him.

Slowly, Greg grabbed John’s jumper and threaded it through his fingers. He ran one hand down Mycroft’s shoulder, his arm, letting his touch get harder and harder until he was wrenching Mycroft’s right arm back.

The politician let him, biting his bottom lip to stop from grunting loudly. Greg wrapped one of the sleeves around Mycroft’s wrist, tying it off tightly before grabbing the man’s other arm. He preformed the same movement, using the sleeves to tie Mycroft’s hands together. He pulled back to make sure they were tight enough, Mycroft grunting.

‘Okay, love?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded.

‘Do we need a safe word?’

Mycroft paused before smirking. ‘John.’

Greg giggled and finally hauled Mycroft up for a kiss, fingers digging into the taller man’s hair. Mycroft groaned and kissed him back, lips wet and tongue sloppy as he stuck it into Greg’s mouth. Greg let him control the kiss before pulling back. He yanked on Mycroft’s bound arms.

‘Up.’

Mycroft managed to stand, shoulders hunched and pulled together, hands curled into fists on his lower back. ‘Yes, Detective Inspector?’

Greg smirked and gave him a slap, hand echoing as it hit Mycroft’s arse. His boyfriend jumped before giving Greg a smile.

Greg moved to press his front to Mycroft’s naked back, erection slipping between the politician’s cheeks and touching his hands. Mycroft groaned and his fingers uncurled to touch Greg’s cock, fingering the tip but not being able to grab.

 

_Text From: Jennifer Phelan_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_Hey, heard from Cara and a few others (Dimmock) that you have a pool going about those insane Holmes’. Well count me in; MYSTRADE BABY!_

 

Greg moaned softly, feeling Mycroft’s fingers grab at his cock desperately. He pushed up a bit, Mycroft trying and failing to get more of Greg into his hands. Greg let him flail for a bit before tugging on Mycroft’s arms, making the man round the couch. He made Mycroft stop, the politician standing behind the furniture in the centre.

Greg let him go and climbed onto the couch, positioning himself so his cock was level with Mycroft’s hungry gaze.

Without waiting for a prompt, Greg grabbed Mycroft by the back of his head and forced his cock into Mycroft’s waiting lips. The politician relaxed his jaw and groaned as Greg slid all the way in, shaft hot and heavy against his tongue, his lips. He sucked back delicately as the head of Greg’s cock hit the back of his throat. For a moment his breathing was cut off but he just waited.

Greg drew out slowly before jamming himself back in, not being delicate about the task. He fucked Mycroft’s face hard, the hand in Mycroft’s hair the only thing keeping the politician in place.

Mycroft just groaned and licked, sucked and slid his teeth along Greg’s cock. He lapped at the pre-come that trickled into his mouth, tasting sex and man and heat and _Gregory_.

Greg kept up his relentless pace, Mycroft’s throat feeling violated and raw in such a delicious way. His hands were still bound, unable to reach forward and grab Greg’s waist to pull the older man in. Greg’s hips moved back and forth rhythmically as he thrust, cutting off Mycroft’s breathing again and again.

Just when Mycroft thought Greg would come in his mouth, the DI was pulling back, wrapping his free hand around the base of his cock to stave off an orgasm.

Mycroft groaned and licked his lips, feeling thoroughly debauched. He looked up at Greg with lust-blown eyes, the bright blue nearly completely replaced with pupils dilated with lust.

‘D-Detective,’ he managed hoarsely, throat sounding scratchy and raw.

Greg smiled and pulled Mycroft in for a sloppy kiss before moving again. Mycroft kept in place, feeling Greg move behind him to run a loving hand down Mycroft’s back. Suddenly there were fingers being forced into his mouth and Mycroft sucked back greedily, coating the DI’s large fingers in saliva.

As quickly as the fingers had appeared they were gone and Mycroft gasped when they pressed into him, forcing his muscles aside and burying deeply into his entrance.

‘Oh God,’ Mycroft moaned, head falling as he pushed back eagerly.

‘Stay still,’ Greg ordered.

Mycroft tried for all of three seconds, once again pushing back to burry three of Greg’s fingers into him deeper.

‘Mycroft...’ Greg warned.

Mycroft whined, pushing his hips up and trying to force Greg to touch that spot, that cluster of nerves that would–

His whine was feral and pouty and sexy all at the same time as Greg pulled his fingers free. He grabbed his still slick cock and rubbed it between Mycroft’s cheeks, the politician panting heavily.

‘G-Gregory...’ he moaned.

‘Mm?’

‘P-please.’

‘I’m sorry, there’s no Gregory here,’ Greg smirked. Mycroft could hear the smirk, could feel Greg’s hands and heat and cock sliding wetly between his buttocks.

‘D-Detective Inspector,’ Mycroft mumbled, ‘p-please...’

Greg yanked back on the jumper, Mycroft being forced higher and off the couch. His back arched, his cock rutting against the couch and making him whimper again. ‘What was that?’

Mycroft gulped. ‘Detective Inspector Lestrade... please, I want you to fuck me.’

‘You do?’ Greg asked, cock pushing a little harder against his entrance.

‘Yes, I do,’ Mycroft nodded.

Greg’s fingers squeezed tighter on the jumper, Mycroft’s wrists rubbing raw and aching beautifully. ‘You, Mycroft Holmes, want me to fuck you?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Mycroft repeatedly.

‘Mr Holmes, _the_ British Government, who acts so pompous and uptight and berates everybody who doesn’t love opera and wine, wants _me_ , Gregory Lestrade, a simple DI who likes to chase bad guys and drink beer and sit around in pyjamas, to fuck him stupid like the little cock slut he is?’

Mycroft moaned loudly, cock leaking copious amounts of pre-come.

‘The same Mycroft Holmes wants me to bugger that arse royally and hard?’

‘Y-Yes,’ Mycroft grunted, so beyond arousal now it wasn’t funny.

‘You want me to fuck you long and hard into this couch until you scream?’

‘Yes!’ Mycroft was practically screaming _now_.

Greg grinned and yanked back on the bonds, Mycroft yelping. ‘Do you, dear Mycroft, want a pounding so hard you won’t fucking walk right for a week?’ Mycroft moaned. ‘Say it, Myc.’

‘I... I want you to...’

‘To...?’ Greg prompted, cock sliding away.

‘To fuck me!’ Mycroft shouted quickly.

‘Why?’

‘B-Because I...’

‘Say it or I won’t.’

Mycroft bit his lip. ‘I’m a cock... slut.’

‘Hmm, aren’t you,’ Greg said softly and pushed in a little, the crown of his cock pushing past Mycroft’s tight ring of muscles. He stopped and rubbed his free hand down Mycroft’s pale and very hot back.

‘Y-Yes.’

‘What else are you?’

‘Um...’

Greg tugged on the jumper.

‘I’m a c-cock slut and...’ he licked his lips slowly, tried to talk through the arousal that was bombarding him from every goddamn angle, ‘I want to... to be... buggered.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes.’

Greg smiled and pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s back. ‘You want a royal fucking, yes?’

‘God, yes.’

‘From me?’

‘Yes, Detective Inspector.’

Greg pushed in a little further, almost half his cock being swallowed by Mycroft’s arse. Mycroft tensed his muscles, tried to get Greg to push all the way in, but the DI was strong.

‘You want to be fucked like the whore you are, is that?’

‘Yes, DI Lestrade,’ Mycroft nodded quickly.

‘You’re a whore for my cock, aren’t you? For a roguish, manly cock.’

Mycroft was whimpering again, trying to push back, but Greg held him against the couch, the leather backing digging painfully/arousingly into his stomach.

That was when Mycroft Holmes, _the_ British Government (and apparent cock slut) broke.

‘JOHN!’

Greg pulled back quickly. ‘What?’

‘John!’ Mycroft shouted again before repeating it quickly. ‘John, John, John, John, _John_!’

Greg remembered through his lust-soaked brain that _John_ was their safe word.

‘Do you want me to untie you?’ Greg asked, immediately easing his fingers from the jumper.

‘No!’ Mycroft whimpered. ‘Just fuck me, Greg, _please_! Please, please, please, I can’t take any more teasing!’ He was close to tears, his arousal so hard and demanding he felt he’d collapse from all the blood pooling in his cock.

‘Are you sure?’ Greg asked, still worried.

‘Hold me down and fuck me!’ Mycroft shouted.

And Gregory, because he loved him, pushed all the way in.

Mycroft moaned as he was completely filled, Greg coming to a rest inside him. He rolled his hips, making Mycroft grunt and squeeze his eyes shut.

‘Oh God, thank you, thank you, tha– _AH_!’

Mycroft shouted loudly when Greg pulled out before thrusting back in, cock filling him again and again and stretching his muscles so painfully, so pleasurably, so fucking wonderfully that Mycroft was in danger of passing out just from the feel.

His nails dug into his palms and Greg thrust in hard, cock hitting Mycroft’s prostate with hours of practiced ease. Mycroft was reduced to a blubbering mess; whimpering, grunting, whining and yes, maybe mewling when Greg hit that spot and forced him hard into the couch and pulled back on the jumper.

Oh God. It was hot and hard and big and painful and each thrust was like heaven, like bursts of sunshine in Mycroft’s head that pushed everything else away. Pain became an intense pleasure as his body ached, everything begging for Greg to just move that bit faster, that bit straighter, to roll his hips _just_ like that.

Each thrust pounded him into the couch and just added to the pleasure he was feeling. The scrape of the couch across the floorboards, Greg’s skin slapping against his own, his stomach slamming into the back of the leather and the dull ache that followed... all of it, it was breath-taking and painful and so fucking hot Mycroft was going to come.

He withheld for a minute before he was finally coming, groaning loudly as liquid spilled across the back of the couch, dripping down the leather as Mycroft slumped over it, finally spent and completely boneless. Everything was cloudy, his lust-soaked brain seeing stars and planets, including poor Pluto that had been bullied right out of the sky. Everything was just... Mycroft wasn’t even there, body thrumming and feeling so utterly satisfied that he wanted to sleep and sleep and never wake up.

Greg continued to fuck him, fingers tightening on his bound hands as he thrust harder and harder. Mycroft just stood there feeling weak, Greg the only thing holding him up, arse stinging and aching deliciously with each intrusion Greg made.

And then Greg was coming, spilling into his partner with one last thrust and hip roll. He moaned a long, drawn out swear, head tipped back as he emptied himself into Mycroft’s limp form.

When he could think coherently, Greg slipped out, Mycroft letting out a breath of air as he did. He untied Mycroft and the politician sagged to the floor, lying on his front before turning to lay on his back. Greg smiled and bent down to kiss him. ‘Alright?’ he asked softly.

‘Mm,’ Mycroft nodded, rubbing at his wrists.

Greg picked them up, pressing soft kisses to his red skin. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Gregory, I’ve been tied up plenty of times,’ Mycroft smiled. His eyes were half closed, lips barely moving and voice a whisper. He looked thoroughly fucked.

Greg raised his eyebrows. ‘Business or pleasure?’

‘Both.’

Greg chuckled and sat on the floor before leaning back, drawing Mycroft’s sweaty body into his own.

‘Gregory?’

‘Mm?’

‘I need a box.’

Greg peeled his eyes open. ‘Huh?’

Mycroft smirked at him. ‘I have a delivery to make to 221B.’

Greg just chuckled. ‘Cock slut.’

‘Tease,’ Mycroft retorted.

They both grinned and exchanged soft, sloppy kisses before nodding off, too tired to move to the bedroom.

 

{oOo}

 

‘THEY RUINED MY FAVOURITE JUMPER!’

‘Calm down, John.’

‘NO I WILL NOT CALM DOWN!’

‘I can buy you another jumper.’

‘THAT’S NOT THE POINT, SHERLOCK! WHY THE FUCK IS ALL _MY_ STUFF GETTING RUINED?! I DON’T SEE THEM GOING AFTER YOUR COAT OR SCARF OR–’

‘Don’t give them ideas, John!’

‘I CAN’T... I DON’T... WHERE’S MY GUN?!’

‘John, you would be shot dead before you got close enough to kill Mycroft.’

‘I can try!’

‘No you can’t, I love you far too much to lose you now.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. And besides, who else would make me tea?’

‘Not funny, Sherlock.’

‘A little bit funny.’

‘My favourite jumper...’

‘I know, John.’

‘You liked it too; my red and black striped one.’

‘... I’LL FUCKING KILL HIM! I LOVE YOU IN THAT JUMPER AND NOW... WHERE’S YOUR GUN?!’

‘Calm down, Sherlock.’


	14. Waistcoat

_Text From: Greg Lestrade_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU BETTING ON ME?_

 

{oOo}

 

‘Holmes? Where is he, where _is_ that boy?’

Mycroft was grinning even before the door burst open and the woman entered. Older then Mycroft but stunning none the less, the woman glared at him with bright green eyes before placing her hands on slim hips.

‘Are you on another silly diet?’

Mycroft tisked and Anthea peered around the woman’s shoulder, staring at her boss. ‘I apologise, sir, I tried to stop her–’

‘No need to worry, Anthea, dear,’ Mycroft smiled.

‘Dear?’ the woman raised an eyebrow.

‘Yes, _dear_ ,’ Mycroft said back, raising his own eyebrows.

She burst out laughing, turning to smile at a thoroughly confused Anthea. ‘I trained him, dear.’

‘Oh,’ Anthea said, ‘you’re Barbara.’

‘Barbara Anne, in the flesh.’ She leaned down to whisper in Anthea’s ear. ‘If you ever want the good dirt on old Mikey Holmes, you give us a call.’

‘BA, _please_ ,’ Mycroft groaned.

Barbara just winked at Anthea, the younger woman smiling and shutting the door. Mycroft stepped across the room and pulled Barbara in for a hug, half his life coming back to him in that one gesture. Barbara had trained Mycroft to be the shadowy side of the government, had taken a nervous, brilliant boy and turned him into a powerful, enthralling man.

‘What are you doing here, you didn’t call,’ Mycroft said and turned to gesture at his desk. Rather than sit in one of the two guest seats, she rounded the table and sat in Mycroft’s chair. He smirked a little. ‘Still like being in command, then?’

‘Still a smartarse, then?’ Barbara retorted.

Mycroft smiled and went over to his liquor cabinet, pulling open a glass tumbler and filling two glasses with expensive scotch.

‘So, Mycroft, what have you been doing with yourself?’ Barbara asked as he approached, handing her a drink and sitting.

‘The same as usual,’ Mycroft replied, sipping his drink.

Barbara held hers carefully, eyeing Mycroft over the glass.

‘What?’

‘You know damn well what,’ Barbara barked in her no-nonsense tone. She had the ability to make Mycroft feel twenty-three again and he slouched in his seat. ‘Posture, Mikey!’ she teased. He sat straighter again, scowling at her. ‘Now, tell me; your brother.’

‘Is clean.’

‘And...?’

‘In a relationship.’

‘With...?’

Mycroft smirked. ‘Like you don’t know.’

‘John Watson seems like a lovely man and I’m sure he is otherwise you wouldn’t have let him near Sherlock,’ Barbara said, finally taking a sip of her drink. She looked down at the amber liquid. ‘Tisk, Mycroft.’

‘That’s good scotch!’ Mycroft protested.

Barbara just chuckled lightly. ‘Next; you.’

‘Me what?’

‘Mikey, what _has_ happened to your vocabulary?’ Barbara asked.

Mycroft paused to think about that. It was true, his speech _had_ changed slightly since he started dating Gregory. He always let himself speak casually when around the DI but now he was doing it in public, in meetings, with his _brother_.

‘Well...?’ Barbara prompted once more, bright green eyes as piercing as the day Mycroft had met her.

‘Erm...’

Barbara raised an eyebrow. Okay, not a good answer.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft finally said.

‘Gregory who?’

‘Lestrade.’

‘And what does this Gregory Lestrade do?’

‘He is a Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard.’

‘Age?’

‘Forty-eight.’

‘You always liked them older.’

‘You always liked them younger.’

Barbara smiled at his stab. ‘What does he look like?’

Mycroft tutted. ‘Come now, you already know all this or you wouldn’t be here.’

‘Indulge an old woman.’

‘You are hardly old.’

Barbara gave him a throaty chuckle and took another swig of scotch. ‘Mikey, I haven’t seen you in seven years.’

‘Spiky grey hair, used to be brown. Dark brown eyes, five-ten, broad shoulders, tanned skin, ha–’ he cut himself off before mumbling, ‘... handsome...’

‘Now, tell me everything, _please_.’

Who was Mycroft to deny the woman who had shaped him into the man he was today? He relented and leaned back, looking into his glass.

‘He’s... Gregory’s amazing,’ Mycroft said honestly. ‘He’s charming, brilliant, a truly wonderful man.’

‘He makes you happy?’

Mycroft nodded. ‘He can make me laugh or cry or think, sometimes he makes me food; toast, sandwiches, a roast dinner once... he hugs me when I need it and just... he takes care of me.’ He looked up at Barbara carefully. ‘He loves me and I love him.’

‘Well then...’ Barbara said slowly and Mycroft waited for it; waited for her to say that Gregory isn’t good enough, not for dear Mikey Holmes, ‘... he seems like a fine gentleman.’

Mycroft blinked. ‘He... he does?’

Barbara smiled. ‘Of course, dear. I met him this morning.’

‘ _What_?’

Barbara giggled, somehow looking ten years younger than her actual age. ‘I may not be as young as I used to be, Mikey, but don’t think I’m out of tricks.’

Mycroft just chuckled and clinked his glass with hers.

‘So...’ she said and Mycroft looked at her again. ‘Tell me about this pool going on between you and Sherlock; I hear you had sex with Gregory in Sherlock’s flat.’

Mycroft groaned.

‘I believe you’re in the lead, Mikey, but I’m not sure how long that will last,’ Barbara said and leaned back in Mycroft’s chair. ‘I’ve already called Sally Donovan; I’m Mystrade.’

Mycroft shook his head.

‘So, from the beginning,’ Barbara grinned.

‘Oh, BA, whatever will I do with you?’ Mycroft smiled.

She chuckled. ‘Tell me ridiculously filthy stories about your boyfriend, brother, and friend.’

Mycroft stared at her for a few seconds before putting his glass down and leaning over the desk. ‘It started when I said the word _horny_...’

 

{oOo}

 

_Text From: Sally Donovan_

_To: Greg Lestrade_

_Calm down, Boss. Just a bit of fun. Besides, you knew I was betting on you._

 

‘Oh, Sherlock...’

Sherlock grinned up at John, a waistcoat in his hands.

‘Where’d you get that?’ John asked, dropping the shopping on the kitchen table. He shouldered from his jacket and began putting things away.

‘I broke into Mycroft’s flat.’

‘Again?’

‘His password was "Hamish".’

John chuckled. ‘Well, isn’t that sweet?’

Sherlock rolled his eyes and began looking at the waistcoat carefully.

‘Let me guess,’ John said, dropping the bread on the counter. ‘You wanna do something dirty with Mycroft’s waistcoat?’

‘Maybe.’

John smiled and entered the living room, looking at where Sherlock was perched on the table. ‘Greg likes those waistcoats.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Sherlock–’

‘Jumper, John.’

John sighed and folded his arms. ‘Alright, what do you want to do?’

‘I want you on the floor, naked, arms pinned by this waistcoat.’

 

_Text From: Greg Lestrade_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_Fun? FUN?! THIS IS MY PRIVATE LIFE! And I thought it was just with Mrs Hudson, not with half of fucking Scotland Yard!_

 

John reached out and Sherlock handed over the waistcoat. It was nice, expensive, the back made of silk and feeling like butter in John’s hands. He ran a finger over the buttons before following the stripes. He held it up and inspected it carefully.

‘Sherlock...’

‘John?’ his boyfriend questioned.

‘There’s no way I’ll fit into this.’

Sherlock frowned. Apparently he hadn’t thought of that.

‘I mean, Mycroft’s a bit bigger then you, yeah, but he’s still a rake compared to me. I’d maybe just manage to get this done up over my chest and shoulders but my arms too?’ He shook his head. ‘No way.’

‘Oh,’ Sherlock breathed out, slumping back onto the couch. John smiled and looked at him carefully. ‘Smiling, why are you smiling? My plan is ruined.’

‘Well...’ John said slowly and Sherlock’s frown deepened. ‘ _I_ might not fit into it but you would, arms and all.’

Sherlock just stared at him.

‘You’re thinner than Mycroft, it’d work.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I am _not_ wearing my brother’s waistcoat.’

‘But it’ll look lovely on your skin,’ John said, pants already feeling tight. He could picture it, Sherlock on his knees, arms pinned, face red and curls bouncing as John sunk into him again and again. ‘Yes...’ he murmured, fingers trailing over the expensive garment, ‘... lovely.’

Sherlock continued to stare at him, clearly not picturing the same things as John. Right, time to change that.

‘Clothes off, now,’ John said in his best captain/doctor voice. Sherlock hesitated before complying, rising to start unbuttoning his shirt. Sherlock claimed to be the dominant half of their relationship but there were times when John’s commanding voice really got to his cock and this seemed to be one of those times. He continued to look resistant, even as John approached him and held the waistcoat up. ‘Yes, this will work.’

Sherlock was still in his trousers and John glared at him. With a small eye-roll, Sherlock kicked off his shoes and slipped from his socks, hands already working his belt. John just watched, cock twitching as Sherlock finally stepped from his boxers. He stood stark naked in the living room, face every bit as stubborn as the rest of him... well, except his cock.

He was half-hard already and his cock moved visibly when John pushed the waistcoat against his naked torso. His skin was perfectly pale, chest hair dark with the odd freckle and scar lining his muscled skin.

‘Mm,’ John murmured before making a turning motion with one hand. Sherlock complied, shivering when John pressed into him from behind. ‘Arms.’

Sherlock linked his hands behind his lower back and John wrapped the waistcoat around him, stretching the material to get it around his biceps. He managed and started doing up the buttons, making sure to press his trapped erection against Sherlock’s perfect arse.

 

_Text From: Sally Donovan_

_To: Greg Lestrade_

_Private? Since when is doing your boyfriend in a doctor’s surgery private? Blame Dimmock, he's the one who told everyone._

 

‘Nngh,’ Sherlock moaned, pressing himself back.

‘What was that?’

‘N-Nothing,’ Sherlock said, trying hard to swallow back the swirl of arousal that was coiling in his gut.

‘ _Nooo_ , that was something,’ John teased, doing up the last button. He stood back to admire his work; Sherlock naked apart from a waistcoat, hands pinned to his lower back, cheeks pink and body oh so fuckable. ‘Something very delicious,’ John said and licked his lips.

Sherlock turned and John wasted no time in pressing their lips together, licking his way into Sherlock’s mouth and sucking on his tongue. Sherlock moaned a lot more audibly this time, rutting his now completely hard cock against his boyfriend’s jumper-covered stomach. 

John let him, enjoying the noises Sherlock was making. He wrapped his arms around the taller man, fingers spreading against the front of the waistcoat and gripping Sherlock’s trapped arms.

‘What you do to me,’ John breathed softly, pushing his crotch up in an aim to get at Sherlock’s cock.

But the height difference made it difficult and John settled for kissing Sherlock like there was no tomorrow, biting his lips and licking up and down Sherlock’s own tongue.

‘Down,’ John said and pushed. Sherlock fell to sit on the couch, grunting as his shoulders strained. John made him forget his pain as he got down on his knees, licking his lips before swallowing Sherlock’s cock in one swift movement.

 

_Text From: Greg Lestrade_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_I didn’t know you knew about that. Fucking Dimmock._

 

‘Oh God,’ Sherlock groaned, pushing up and trying to get his cock deeper into the doctor’s mouth. John sucked back enthusiastically, licking the tip and swallowing pre-come as he went. Sherlock continued to moan and thrust into him, hands clenched behind his back, shoulders straining against the waistcoat. ‘J-John...’

John pulled back and grabbed Sherlock, spinning the consulting detective until he was kneeling on the couch, legs spread and head resting against the back of the sofa.

‘John?’

John licked a strip between Sherlock’s cheeks, fingers digging into his boyfriend’s gorgeously shaped arse, pale skin flushing red as John aimed a few light smacks. Sherlock tried to bend to see what John was doing but gave up when his boyfriend’s tongue pushed into him, slipping past his ring of muscle and making everything so hard and hot and FUCK!

 

_Text From: Sally Donovan_

_To: Greg Lestrade_

_Yeah, the girl who works the front desk is in the pool._

 

Sherlock settled for rutting back against John, trying to get the wet organ deeper into his body. John alternated between fucking his boyfriend with his tongue and licking across that perfect arse he was allowed to violate so wonderfully. Sherlock was reduced to a mess, face sweaty and red, lips swollen from kissing and biting.

He moaned when John pushed a finger in, sliding in and out in swift movements as he tongued Sherlock’s hole.

‘J-John,’ Sherlock groaned, pressing his face into the couch. John used one hand to spread his cheeks wider before slipping another two fingers in, twisting until he found that spot. ‘JOHN!’

‘Had enough?’ John teased, nipping at Sherlock’s arse, his lower back. He squeezed the man’s thighs, hands brushing against his leaking cock.

‘P-Please,’ Sherlock begged. ‘N-Now.’

John stood and disappeared, leaving Sherlock crouching on the couch. He breathed heavily, arms already aching and cock throbbing with need. He was too hot, way too hot, and he needed John right then and there.

Movement from behind made Sherlock pause and suddenly a wet cock was being pressed into him. ‘Mm... yes, please,’ Sherlock begged again as John pushed completely into him.

 

_Text From: Greg Lestrade_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_Course she bloody is._

 

John just stood there, completely encased in Sherlock’s sweet, tight heat. He spread Sherlock’s cheeks wider, pinching and slapping until Sherlock was pushing back against him.

‘John...’ he whined, biting his bottom lip and sucking back.

‘Mm?’

‘P-Please...’ Sherlock stuttered.

John smiled. ‘What do you want, Sherlock?’

‘I want you to fuck me,’ Sherlock demanded.

‘Well that’s too bad.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want you to fuck yourself on me,’ John said. Sherlock groaned. ‘So which one of us is going to get what we want?’

Sherlock began moving immediately, head bent as he tried to impale himself on John’s cock. Soon he got into a rhythm, found a way to pull himself half off John’s cock before thrusting back.

John groaned and ran his hands down Sherlock’s creamy thighs, gripping tightly as he moved up to the man’s hips. Sherlock grunted in his efforts, sweat beading on his forehead and cheeks flamed red as he pushed back.

John took pity after a few minutes and grabbed Sherlock’s hips forcefully, pulling his boyfriend into him. Sherlock groaned loudly as he was completely filled, John’s cock hitting his prostate to send a delicious wave of ecstasy through his already sparking body.

A few kisses were placed against Sherlock’s neck, the genius moaning loudly. Sherlock arched into John, their bodies pressed together. The buttons of the waistcoat scratched at John’s skin, reminding the doctor that Sherlock was still bound by the expensive garment.

‘Mm,’ he breathed against Sherlock’s ear before licking across his jaw. ‘Look at you, all lovely and tied up.’

‘Nngh,’ Sherlock managed as John captured his lips, tongue sloppily plundering Sherlock’s mouth. ‘M-More...’ he mumbled after John had pulled back.

‘More?’

‘Mm-hmm.’

John smiled and kissed him again.

 

_Text From: Sally Donovan_

_To: Greg Lestrade_

_So, you in or out?_

 

John pushed back in forcefully, Sherlock shouting and letting his head drop. John used one hand to steady him, the other gripping his neck and holding tight as he fucked Sherlock hard.

Sherlock let out a string of curses, what sounded like French, and then a lot of incoherent words followed by, ‘Guh, m-mo- _oh_... Jesu... y- _yes_!’

John slammed into him over and over again, the couch rutting against the floor as John pounded into the genius, hitting his prostate every fifth thrust. He reached for Sherlock’s cock and gave a few, swift tugs before he was pulling out.

Sherlock practically squealed, eyes blown with lust and heart hammering in his chest. John pulled him up until he stumbled, leaning heavily against the doctor as he was turned.

‘On the coffee table,’ John growled.

Sherlock moaned and did as asked, managing to crouch on the coffee table with some help. The new angle meant John could get in deeper than before and he wasted no time in doing just that, cock being swallowed again and again as he forced his way in.

John grabbed the back of Sherlock’s head, twirling that lovely curly hair in his fingers as he pulled Sherlock’s head back. Sherlock gasped and his back arched, John pulling him up until he could suck and bite at that pale neck he loved so much.

‘What a good idea,’ John said, his own pleasure now threatening to make words impossible. ‘Just look... at you...’ he grunted, snapping his hips quickly as his cock slammed into Sherlock’s prostate again and again.

‘U-Uh...’ Sherlock let out a long, breathy moan, eyes shut and lips hanging open. John sucked back on his skin, Sherlock groaning as he was filled.

John let his head go and concentrated on fucking Sherlock into an orgasm, one hand on his waist, the other on his boyfriend’s waistcoat-covered shoulder.

‘S-So c-close,’ Sherlock moaned, head bent as John fucked him hard.

Suddenly he was being pulled back and both fell to sit, John with his back pressed against the couch. ‘Show me how much you wanna come,’ John hissed. ‘Go on.’

Sherlock started fucking himself again on John’s cock, legs working hard as he pushed himself up and down. He moaned loudly as John penetrated him deeper than before, cock hitting his prostate each and every thrust.

‘Come on, Sherlock,’ John said and pulled on his boyfriend’s cock, thrusting up to burry himself over and over again. ‘Come...’

Sherlock tightened around him and came, leaking over the waistcoat and John’s fist. John continued to thrust into him, biting into the waistcoat that still trapped Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock just moaned and allowed himself to rock on John’s cock, the orgasm still thumping though him and making everything so good.

John pushed Sherlock off, the genius falling to press his chest against the coffee table. He was vaguely aware of John grunting and groaning, the doctor jerking himself off over Sherlock’s back.

He came with a loud grunt, climaxing all over the waistcoat and Sherlock’s heaving body. He slumped against him, bodies hot and pressed together. 

 

_Text From: Greg Lestrade_

_To: Sally Donovan_

_In. Mystrade._

 

Slowly John started moving, unbuttoning the waistcoat and letting Sherlock free. The genius groaned, arms cramping as he sat up. John kissed his neck, his shoulders, massaging his boyfriend’s aching muscles.

‘You okay?’

Sherlock managed a nod before shuffling to sit on the couch, draping himself over it and letting his head tip back. John joined him, folding his body into Sherlock’s and pressing kisses to his shoulder.

‘You sure?’

‘Mm,’ Sherlock murmured.

‘’Kay.’

Sherlock turned to look at him and smiled. ‘John?’

‘Yeah?’

‘We should buy a waistcoat.’

John just chuckled.

 

{oOo}

 

_Text From: Sally Donovan_

_To: Greg Lestrade_

_No worries ;)_

 

Mycroft stared at the pile of waistcoats, a sick feeling in his gut.

‘Can’t you tell which one?’

‘Yes, but...’ Mycroft winced, ‘the violated waistcoat has touched the others.’

Greg couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. ‘Violated?’

‘They violated my waistcoats, Gregory.’

‘They’re just–’ He cut himself off when Mycroft glared at him. ‘M’kay. But Myc, that’s a lot of money wasted just because Sherlock and John–’

‘Don’t.’

‘But they only–’

‘Gregory.’

Greg paused before, ‘It’s just come–’

Mycroft groaned and walked from the bedroom quickly. Greg looked at the pile of expensive clothing.

‘Shame,’ he murmured, ‘Mycroft looks good in a waistcoat.’ Suddenly his head was filled with images of Mycroft in just a waistcoat and he grinned, turning to go find his boyfriend.

‘Myc!’ he called. ‘I think we should go shopping!’


	15. Coat

‘So...’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, are we just going to sit here staring at it?’

‘I’m thinking.’

‘You’re always thinking, gorgeous.’

‘Gregory...’

‘Sorry, interrupting your thinking?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does me saying gorgeous turn you on?’

‘ _Gregory_...’

‘Well we _are_ here to have sex, I’d figure you wanted to be horny.’

‘We’re here to steal the coat, not have sex.’

‘Aren’t we talking a bit loudly?’

‘No, they will not wake.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I had sleeping pills mixed into their takeaway.’

Greg giggled and ran a hand through his hair. He and Mycroft were standing in the dark living room of 221B, eyes adjusting to the gloom. It was nearing midnight and Greg could vaguely hear someone snoring upstairs.

‘So...’

‘Get the coat, Gregory.’

Greg grabbed the coat from where Sherlock had thrown it over John’s armchair. Mycroft was already leaving, stepping down the stairs quickly and disappearing. Greg folded Sherlock’s coat under his arm (it was a bulky bloody thing) and followed his boyfriend.

 

{oOo}

 

The ride was silent, Greg fiddling with the coat, Mycroft tapping on his BlackBerry. Greg wondered if he was the only one feeling slightly horny as they entered their building. Mycroft seemed as cool and collected as always and Greg wondered if maybe Mycroft was having second thoughts about using Sherlock’s coat.

He needn’t have worried, though. As soon he shut the door, Mycroft was on him, body pressed up against Greg’s, lips hard and demanding as they sucked back on Greg’s neck.

‘Jesus,’ Greg groaned, blinking and trying to think through the flood of arousal that had just washed through him.

Mycroft was moving quickly, peeling off Greg’s clothes until the man was completely naked, socks going flying as Mycroft dropped to his knees.

The man was still in his suit, no waistcoat because he was still waiting for his tailor to make some that matched all his suits. He licked his lips and grabbed Greg’s hardening cock, warm mouth sucking back as he engulfed him completely.

‘Oh God,’ Greg groaned, suddenly sounding very religious as Mycroft sucked back on him. Here he’d been thinking that maybe Mycroft wasn’t interested tonight and yet... God, he really had to get better at reading his partner.

Mycroft’s tongue was teasing, flicking out quickly to lick at his head before being replaced by his lips, soft, wet kisses going along his shaft.

‘Myc,’ Greg mumbled, looking down. He reached out and threaded one hand through Mycroft’s hair, tugging in an attempt to get him closer, to get his cock back in that wonderful mouth.

Mycroft smiled up at him, eyes bright blue beneath long, dark lashes. He really was beautiful and Greg thanked the world he’d managed to find a man like Mycroft Holmes.

He was alternating between his mouth and hand, pumping Greg’s cock every time he drew back to suck on his testicles. Greg was dangerously close to coming. Right, well he had to change that.

Greg pushed Mycroft back and the politician stared at him as he was dragged up. Greg towed Mycroft to their bedroom, Sherlock’s coat under one arm. Once there he turned to stare at Mycroft.

‘Right, get naked, now.’

Mycroft smiled and did as asked, shedding his clothes and letting them pool at his feet. He was rock hard, cock oozing pre-come and making Greg lick his lips.

The DI picked Sherlock’s coat up and said, ‘Stay still.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but again did as asked, arms at his side as Greg circled the coat around him. He buttoned it up quickly, the coat fitting around Mycroft’s slim frame perfectly. His arms were pinned to his side and Greg ran his hands across Mycroft’s shoulders, the coat rough beneath his touch.

‘Mm, look at you,’ he purred, pressing a wet kiss to Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft moaned when Greg’s tongue licked circles on his skin, lapping at an ear before darting back to his neck, his jaw. He pushed Mycroft back, the politician hitting the bed heavily and yelping.

Greg grinned and dropped to his knees, pulling Mycroft’s own apart and moving the coat to get at his cock.

He sank down immediately, taking Mycroft completely and hollowing his cheeks as he sucked. Mycroft groaned and thrust up, Greg letting him as Mycroft’s thick cock slid over his tongue. He licked at the head every time Mycroft drew out, lapping up pre-come before going down once more.

One hand came up to cup Mycroft’s balls, the other holding the base of his cock and pulling up every time his mouth came free. He moved slowly, doing everything in his power to drive Mycroft mad with lust.

He was groaning loudly, swearing under his breath and looking at Greg with completely lust-blown eyes. He started whimpering when Greg ran a thumb over his head, the DI grinning up at him.

‘Greg, I’m... close... s-stop...’ Mycroft begged.

But Greg suddenly had an idea. There was no way he was going to stop and he took Mycroft completely, leaning forward on his knees, hands fisted in Sherlock’s coat as he sucked the elder Holmes off long and hard.

‘G-Greg, n-no,’ Mycroft tried but he couldn’t sit up. There was nothing he could do as Greg held him down roughly, looking up to watch Mycroft’s face as an orgasm overtook him.

Mycroft groaned and swore as he came, shooting his load down his boyfriend’s throat. He swore and shouted, shook and pushed up to bury himself deeper into Greg’s mouth.

And then he fell, panting heavily, sweat trickling down his forehead. Greg knew it must have been hot in Sherlock’s coat and smiled as he shifted up, getting to his feet to press his body against Mycroft’s clothed one.

‘Alright there?’ he asked, pressing kisses to Mycroft’s heated face.

‘Y-Yes,’ Mycroft said and managed a nod. ‘Greg, I wanted you to–’

‘Fuck you?’ Greg cut him off and Mycroft nodded again. ‘Oh, I’m still going to.’

Mycroft looked confused, well-groomed eyebrows coming together as Greg kissed him. ‘What?’ he said when they broke apart.

‘I’m still going to fuck you, Mycroft,’ Greg said.

‘But–’

Greg was already moving, slipping off Mycroft and grabbed his hips. Mycroft was turned suddenly, the taller man gasping as he was forced onto his stomach. Greg hiked the coat up and smiled as he ran his eyes over Mycroft’s glorious arse. He ran a calloused hand over Mycroft’s pale skin, the politician shivering.

‘Do you want me to fuck you?’ Greg asked. ‘I want you to beg for it.’

‘I don’t beg, Gregory,’ Mycroft told him.

Greg smirked. They both knew that was false; Mycroft begged all the time.

‘Come now, love, I know you want me to bugger you.’ Mycroft groaned softly. ‘Even all tired and spent you still want my cock, don’t you?’

Mycroft whimpered, turning his head on the bed so he could breathe.

‘What was that? "Yes, Gregory, I _do_ want your cock"? Was that what you said?’

‘N-No,’ Mycroft tried.

Greg slapped him hard, skin quickly turning pink and then a darker red as Greg smacked him again.

‘God, Greg,’ Mycroft moaned.

‘That’s more like it,’ Greg said and reached for their top drawer. He pulled out a bottle of lube and slicked himself up. Mycroft held his breath as Greg’s hard prick nudged at his entrance, making him push back. ‘No,’ Greg said softly, leaning over to breathe across the back of Mycroft’s neck. ‘Come on, you know what I want.’

‘Um...’

Greg pushed a bit more, cock sliding between Mycroft’s cheeks achingly slowly.

‘G-Greg,’ Mycroft mumbled, voice now taking on a higher pitched tone.

‘Yes, beautiful?’ Greg asked.

‘I... I want...’ Mycroft licked his lips, once again pushing back. Though he’d already come, arousal was still coiling through his body. There was a high chance he’d get hard again if Greg kept this up.

‘What do you want, gorgeous?’ Greg murmured, kissing Mycroft’s sweaty neck softly.

‘You.’

‘How?’

‘I...’ Mycroft wet his lips again before swallowing, ‘I want you to f-fuck me.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I love you.’

Greg smiled. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm... well, since you _did_ ask...’ He pushed in swiftly, Mycroft grunting as pain and pleasure spiralled through him. Greg set up a blinding pace, not giving Mycroft a chance to adjust as he pounded into him.

He kept the coat hiked up, wanting to watch his cock disappear into that beautiful arse. He drew back a hand and slapped Mycroft again, the elder Holmes groaning and squeezing his eyes shut.

‘M-More,’ he begged.

‘More?’ Greg echoed.

Mycroft managed to nod and Greg snapped his hips, hitting Mycroft’s prostate. Mycroft sucked in quick breaths, teeth gritted tightly as Greg fucked him hard.

‘Jesus Christ, Greg,’ he moaned. ‘God, more, please; there, right there!’

Greg dropped the coat and moved forward, spreading his legs wide and leaning on Mycroft for support. Mycroft grunted under his breath as Greg pounded into him, snapping and rolling his hips over and over in an aim to hit that sweet spot that had Mycroft shouting.

The room was filled with their heavy panting, Mycroft’s face redder then Greg had ever seen it before. He began rutting against the bed, pushing his twitching cock against the covers.

‘Greg,’ he moaned. ‘G-Greg, fuck, there!’

Greg pushed himself into his boyfriend heavily, both moving back and forth on the bed as they fucked. Greg began biting Mycroft’s neck, wrenching the coat collar aside to get at his skin. Mycroft hissed and cursed, trying to push his hips off the bed and get Greg into him deeper.

‘M-Mycroft,’ Greg groaned. ‘I’m... shit!’

He came deep inside Mycroft, hips grinding to a halt as he spent himself. It took him a minute to get himself together and slip out, Mycroft groaning at the loss. Greg stumbled into the bathroom and grabbed a towel, wetting it with warm water and cleaning himself up.

‘Greg?’ Mycroft called breathlessly.

Greg walked back into the bedroom to see Mycroft sitting on the bed, the front of Sherlock’s coat covered in come.

‘Again?’ the DI asked. Mycroft smiled slightly and Greg chuckled, walking across to clean him up. He undid the buttons and Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief, flexing his arms. ‘Well this is great for my self esteem,’ Greg said.

‘How so?’ Mycroft asked.

‘I made a man in his forties come twice,’ Greg grinned.

Mycroft chuckled and drew him in for a kiss, both falling back onto the bed.

 

{oOo}

 

‘You’re just upset because that coat made you look dramatic.’

Sherlock threw his phone across the room and John picked it up, flicking through the photos Mycroft had sent that morning. They’d both woken up groggy and it had been Sherlock who figured out Mycroft spiked their food. And then he’d found his coat gone and... well, he wasn’t a happy camper.

Sherlock scowled and crossed his arms, effectively moving into ‘sulking’ mode.

John just smiled and said, ‘New coat, then?’

‘Please.’

‘Want me to pick it up?’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock pouted.

John smiled and leaned over to kiss him. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

The doctor chuckled.


	16. Piano

Sherlock once again worked out Mycroft’s password and he and John entered the flat. It looked no different than before but John was still thrown by its sheer size. In 221B, he and Sherlock lived in close quarters and though the doctor loved his boyfriend, sometimes it was annoying to be in a flat where Sherlock could hear him constantly.

In this flat, Mycroft and Greg would have the chance to really be alone and still have their loved one close by. John was a little envious.

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and, like the previous time, steered him through the flat. They went up the circular staircase, footsteps ringing out loudly.

‘Er, you’re sure Mycroft and Greg aren’t home?’ John asked as he was pulled down a wood-panelled hallway.

‘My brother and his boyfriend are at dinner, John. That will include entrees, soup, a main course, dessert, and the two of them no doubt shagging in the bathroom.’

John giggled as Sherlock led him to the end of the hall.

‘Mycroft is rather fond of restaurant bathrooms,’ Sherlock said and pushed a door open.

The couple stepped into a large room with thick, sound-proofed walls. There was a jet black grand piano in the centre of the carpet. To the right were various violin and viola cases as well as two electric guitars, a number of acoustic guitars, and a few odds and ends on shelves. The left wall was covered in CD’s, cassettes and vinyl records. There were band posters on the other walls; The Rolling Stones, Radiohead, Elvis Presley, Muse, Green Day, and a heap of bands John didn’t recognise.

The doctor whistled. ‘Wow,’ he said when he’d spotted the music system; large speakers, an expensive CD player and radio capable of holding ten CD’s, an iPod docking station, an amplifier, and a heap of equipment and chords John couldn’t even pretend to know the name or use of.

‘Yes, brother dear is rather fond of music,’ Sherlock said.

‘I thought he just played piano.’

‘No,’ Sherlock shook his head. ‘It’s Mycroft who taught me how to play the violin. I stole his when I was five and rather than be angry, he asked if I wanted to play. I did and he taught me.’

John smiled; his boyfriend had sounded happy, wistful. It was good to know that the brothers could actually get along.

Sherlock turned to look at John, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

‘Sherlock...’

The consulting detective was on him suddenly, kissing John like a man desperate for love. He was all teeth and tongue, lips and soft sucking noises as he dragged John forward. All the doctor could do was go along with it, lost in the sensation of Sherlock’s soft lips, his long, hard fingers, his very warm body.

John was turned and pushed into something hard, making him gasp and Sherlock step back.

‘Sh-Sherlock?’ John questioned. He looked around and realised Sherlock had backed him into the piano. Suddenly he was lifted, arse sliding along the smooth surface as Sherlock attacked his jeans. ‘Oh God, not on the p–’

He was cut off when Sherlock got his jeans and underwear down, hot, wet mouth wrapping around his cock.

‘God,’ John groaned as Sherlock sucked back.

 

_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Ally Messer_

_Hey Mike, when are you coming to the pub again? It’s been months and don’t use your, ‘Harry broke up with me’, excuse, got it? BTW, I’m in for Johnlock! :)_

 

John moaned and leaned back, hands sliding across the piano. He was sweating now, jumper and jacket feeling way too hot. He managed to get his jacket off before Sherlock was pulling back to nibble on his thigh, John whimpering under his breath.

‘God, Sherlock.’

Sherlock smirked and went back to sucking him off, lips soon wrapped around the base of his cock. John was reduced to a whimpering mess, just trying to breathe and not come down his boyfriend’s throat as Sherlock swallowed his entire prick.

The genius’ hands were warm and soft, one wrapped around the base of his cock, the other rubbing up and down John’s thigh before moving up to his stomach. He played with John’s chest hair before tweaking a nipple, John jumped and pushing his cock down Sherlock’s throat.

‘S-Sorry,’ he managed to gasp, Sherlock pulling back and letting John fall from his mouth with a very dirty sound.

Sherlock grinned and John reached out to touch his chin, his jaw, running his fingers along that smooth, pale skin he loved so much. How could Sherlock still be clean shaven at seven o’clock at night? It was maddening.

Sherlock stood and slowly got undressed, smiling as John bit his bottom lip.

‘Fuck you’re gorgeous,’ John said when Sherlock finally stepped from his underwear, leaving his clothes pooled on the floor. Rather than answer, Sherlock made a twirling motion with his index finger. John slid off the piano and turned.

He gasped when Sherlock hands yanked his jeans and underwear down, the doctor kicking his shoes and socks off while John tore at his own jumper. When he was naked, Sherlock thrust two fingers into his mouth, John sucking and licking greedily, glad to hear when Sherlock moaned.

The fingers left his mouth and slid into is arse, John gasping at the sudden intrusion and letting his head drop. He reached out to lean against the piano, arms shaking as he tried to keep himself standing.

Sherlock was meticulous, thrusting in and out, circling his fingers to stretch John, crooking them slightly to search for his prostate. He managed to brush against it a few minutes in, John moaning as the genius paid special attention to that area. It added to the pleasure, the feeling of being full and loved by such a mad, beautiful man. When Sherlock slipped out John actually whimpered.

‘Wouldn’t you rather my cock, John?’ Sherlock asked from very close behind him. His hot, muscular body pressed into John’s, cock sliding between his cheeks.

‘Y-Yes,’ John managed to say through his pleasure.

‘Well, you seemed rather upset before,’ Sherlock breathed across his neck. Suddenly his wet lips were there, pressing against his skin. His tongue joined in, lapping at John’s sweat-soaked neck, making fresh pleasure shudder through the doctor’s body.

‘Please, Sherlock, fuck me already,’ John groaned.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Don’t make me hit you,’ John growled.

Sherlock chuckled and pulled back. John thought maybe Sherlock had decided to leave after all and was about to turn. Suddenly a hot, thick cock pushed into him and John fell forward, forearms and elbows pressed to the warm piano as he was completely filled.

‘Fuck, Sherlock,’ he gasped, head drooping as he closed his eyes.

‘Yes, John?’

‘Fuck me, please.’

‘That’s not what you said.’

John groaned. ‘Sherlock!’

Sherlock grinned and started fucking John in short, soft movements, cock only pulling slightly out before being pushed back in. John groaned, thankful for any type of stimulation. He scraped his nails against the piano, groans forming in the back of his throat and rolling across his tongue. Sherlock knew exactly what to do, exactly how to draw out the pleasure and make John writhe and moan. He was completely in control of the situation...

... until John started thrusting back.

For the first time since starting, Sherlock moaned and his hands came up to grip John’s hips tightly.

‘Mm?’ John breathed.

‘S-Stop,’ Sherlock managed.

‘Stop what?’ John asked and clenched around Sherlock’s cock. The taller man moaned again. ‘What was that?’

‘John,’ he warned.

‘What?’ John repeated, pulling his hips forward before thrusting them back. He was completely impaled on Sherlock’s cock, the genius shouting out John’s name. He stood still, muttering obscenities beneath his breathe as John continued to fuck himself. ‘You’re beautiful, Sherlock,’ the doctor whimpered. ‘Absolutely gorgeous.’

Sherlock groaned loudly.

‘Do you like that?’ John asked. ‘Me fucking myself on your prick?’

‘Y-Yes,’ Sherlock nodded, nails digging into John’s tanned hips.

‘Want more?’ John asked, barely able to talk himself.

‘Fuck, yes!’ Sherlock shouted and suddenly pulled out.

John gasped as he was turned and dragged to the front of the piano. Sherlock sat on the piano stool and John mounted him, Sherlock’s cock quickly slipping back into his tight hole.

 

_Text To: Ally Messer_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_Hi Als. I promise, PROMISE, I’ll come to the pub Friday. Maggie Byrne from the Drugs squad said she wanted me to go so you know ;) Johnlock, really? Maggie’s Johnlock too. There’s no WAY Johnlock are gonna win, have you met Mycroft Holmes? I’ll see you Friday, I promise._

 

‘Fuck,’ John grunted as Sherlock’s long, muscled arms wrapped around him. He was pushed up and back, hands flailing out to grip the wood covering the piano keys. He moaned loudly as Sherlock began to fuck him, hard, cock sliding in and out completely to fill him in a spectacular way.

He was bumping into John’s prostate, adding a small sliver of pleasure to what John was already feeling.

‘F-Fuck, Sh-Sher-l-lock,’ John managed as he was forced up and down, Sherlock’s cock stretching him beautifully and making him ache for more. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind then Sherlock’s hand was around his cock, pulling and twisting to make John crazy with ecstasy.

‘Come for me,’ Sherlock asked, voice heavy with lust as he panted in an effort to fuck John harder. ‘Y-you’re so close,’ he continued. ‘Come, John.’

John couldn’t hold out any longer and was coming no more than ten minutes after Sherlock had started fucking him, his release leaking down his stomach and Sherlock’s hand.

John’s climax done, Sherlock started fucking him more earnestly, slamming into John with abandon. John managed a groan when he was pushed to lie atop the piano, Sherlock straining to keep fucking him at this new angle.

Through hooded eyes, John watched as Sherlock cursed, shouted John’s name, and finally spilled into him. John smiled as Sherlock pumped softly, cock now tender and softening as Sherlock climaxed. He drew out carefully, come dribbling from John’s opening to spill onto the piano.

John smiled as Sherlock fell to sit, groaning and leaning against the keyboard cover.

‘So...’ John said. ‘Fuck.’

Sherlock chuckled. ‘Yes, yes...’

It was then that they heard voices and footsteps. John had only just managed to slip off the piano when the door opened.

 

_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Ally Messer_

_Haha, what, hit out with the men so you go straight back to the women? How very Dimmock. No, seriously, it’s great that you’re moving on and Maggie’s a nice woman. Yeah, Johnlock, we’re gonna win and you’ll have to pay up. See you Friday but make sure you tell me what you’re wearing; women don’t like Doctor Who shirts, no matter how hot David Tennant is._

 

‘Fuck!’ Mycroft Holmes shouted and turned his back, not used to the sight of his little brother sitting naked at his piano.

John had never heard Mycroft swear before and despite the situation he giggled. Greg, not having the same reservations about the situation, did as much staring as he wanted.

‘Well hello there,’ the DI grinned, eyeing John carefully before letting his gaze flick to Sherlock.

‘Stop staring, Lestrade,’ Sherlock said as he bent to pick up his trousers.

‘A guy can look,’ Greg said.

‘Gregory!’ Mycroft snapped, grabbing his boyfriend and making him turn.

‘Don’t be a spoil sport,’ Greg grumbled but stayed with his back turned, letting the other two men dress.

Mycroft glared at him from the corner of his eye. ‘Forgive me for not wanting you to perv on my little brother.’

‘Perv?’ John was giggling again.

‘You were supposed to be at dinner,’ Sherlock said as he buttoned up his shirt.

‘Forgive me for wanting to skip dinner and have sex with my boyfriend,’ Mycroft growled.

‘Bathroom not good enough?’ Sherlock questioned, sliding into his trousers.

Greg grinned and Mycroft sighed. ‘Are you dressed yet?’ the elder Holmes asked.

‘Yes,’ Sherlock answered.

Mycroft and Greg turned to see Sherlock tucking his shirt in and doing up his belt. John was shouldering into his jumper, tanned skin disappearing beneath the soft cable-knit cloth.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Mycroft demanded.

‘Getting dressed,’ his brother said, finally pulling his jacket on. ‘Didn’t you want that?’

Mycroft scowled, eyes flicking to his piano before settling back on Sherlock. ‘My...’ he said softly, hands clenched into fists, ‘my _piano_.’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock smiled.

‘My piano.’

‘Yes.’

‘ _My piano_.’

‘Mycroft, how many more times are you going to–’

‘MY PIANO!’ Mycroft shouted, cutting his brother off. ‘I’ve had that piano for _years_ , my first teacher left it to me, what the fuck am I supposed to do now?’

He looked really, really mad and John wilted under his glare. ‘Um... we could clean it?’

Mycroft glared at him and John looked down. ‘Clean... _clean it_?’

‘Myc, calm down,’ Greg tried.

‘No, that is my favourite instrument and Sherlock violated it!’ Mycroft shouted. ‘This is going too far, Sherlock!’

‘You defiled my violin bow, Mycroft, how is your piano too far?’ Sherlock demanded, looking angry himself.

‘It just is, Sherlock!’ Mycroft shouted.

The brothers were fuming, glaring at each other with barely controlled rage. Greg and John just watched from the sidelines, not sure what to do.

 

_Text To: Ally Messer_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_Shut up._

 

‘Why don’t we all just calm down?’ Greg asked, resting a hand on Mycroft’s arm. Mycroft scowled and folded his arms.

‘What’s done is done,’ John said. ‘And we should all... erm... try not to murder each other.’ He eyed Mycroft wearily; the elder Holmes looked livid.

Mycroft glared. ‘Just get out, Sherlock, I don’t want to look at you.’

Sherlock grinned and grabbed John’s hand, the doctor having to stoop to get his jacket and Sherlock’s coat. His boyfriend looked smug as hell as he passed his brother and Greg, blowing a kiss to Mycroft before leaving.

Mycroft stood still, staring at his piano.

‘Myc?’

‘I need a new piano.’

Greg sighed. This was like the waistcoats thing all over again. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the piano, love.’

‘I need a new piano,’ Mycroft repeated.

‘Mycroft, the piano is important to you, I know that. Just try to forget–’

‘I need a new piano,’ Mycroft cut him off.

Greg sighed again. ‘Fine, fine. I’ll have Anthea make arrangements to put this one into storage.’

Mycroft smiled and turned to look at his partner. ‘Thank you, Gregory.’

Greg kissed him softly. ‘No worries.’

 

_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Ally Messer_

_< 3_

 

{oOo}

 

‘Okay, everyone can it!’ Sally Donovan shouted. She and a fair few people were sitting in one of the Met’s smaller meeting rooms. ‘I call this meeting to order!’

‘Boo!’

‘Shut up, Dimmock!’ Sally snapped, the young DI grinning at her. ‘Right, okay, so we’re all meeting to discuss the Pool we currently have going about those Holmeses. I know for a fact that the Freak did something to the elder one’s umbrella; Lestrade was complaining about it this morning. Holmes the elder was also complaining about a piano. Anyone else know anything?’

‘All I know is something about a coat and waistcoat you put out in your email,’ Dimmock said.

‘Well a fat lot of good you are, Mike,’ Sally sighed.

‘What?’ the DI said, holding up his arms. ‘Half of these people are here because of me.’

Sally looked around and realised there were a few people she didn’t recognise. ‘Who the hell are you two?’ she demanded, pointing at two youngish looking girls in the corner.

The brown-haired one giggled, smothering it before smiling at Sally. ‘Er, Ashley Mahoney.’

‘Is that supposed to help me?’ Sally asked.

‘I deliver sandwiches.’

Sally frowned.

‘That young dude told us we could come,’ the other girl said, pointing at Dimmock.

‘Jesus Christ, Mike, why don’t you just let everyone into Scotland Yard?’ Sally seethed, close to shouting.

‘Do they look like serial killers to you?’ Dimmock asked.

‘Everyone looks like a serial killer to me,’ Sally muttered, ‘ever since I met the Freak.’

‘I’m Team Mystrade!’ Ashley shouted, her friend giggling.

‘Me too,’ she grinned at Sally, who narrowed her eyes. ‘Uh, Carolyn Ward. I’ve never broken the law, honest.’

‘What about that time you hit that guy?’ Ashley asked.

Carolyn glared at her. ‘He came out of nowhere!’

‘He was on the footpath!’

‘You’ll be on the footpath in a minute!’

‘Shut up!’ Sally shouted, the two girls going quiet. ‘Who are you?’ Sally asked, pointing at young blonde woman sitting before her.

‘Ruth Adams, I work in traffic.’

‘Right, and you’re...’

‘Team Mystrade,’ Ruth smiled.

‘Finally, some bloody Mystraders,’ Sally said, taking out her notebook to jot the names down. ‘Right, anyone else new?’

‘Me!’

Sally looked up to see another woman sitting between Slone Egan and Rhi Jones. ‘And you are?’

‘Donna Gilmore.’

‘What do you do here, Donna Gilmore?’

‘I’m a serial killer.’

Rhi choked before bursting into a fit of giggles.

‘Shut up, Rhi!’ Sally snapped.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ the DI giggled.

‘Donna, what team?’ Sally asked, thinking this entire thing was more trouble than it was worth... though she was looking at big bucks if Mystrade won.

‘Mystrade,’ Donna grinned.

‘Johnlock!’ Evelynn Chater shouted from behind Donna, forcing the other woman to turn and glare at her.

‘No way.’

‘Yes way,’ Evelynn said. ‘Sherlock Holmes is... insane.’

‘His brother is the Government.’

‘Bull,’ Evelynn said, crossing her arms.

‘That’s what he always says,’ Dimmock piped in.

‘So?’ Evelynn said, raising an eyebrow. ‘I can sit here all day every day and say I’m a koala, doesn’t make me a koala.’

‘Maybe if you wished _really_ hard,’ Ashley said.

‘You’d die here though, no Eucalyptus in Britain,’ her mate, Carolyn, added. ‘Well, unless you lived in a zoo...’

‘Jesus Christ, would you people just shut up?’ Sally groaned. ‘All I wanted to do was meet here to discuss the Pool and get down everyone’s team and... Jesus Christ!’

‘You’ve already said that,’ Rhi pointed out.

‘Multiple times,’ Donna added.

‘Are we done here yet?’ Brittney Ryan asked, slouching against the wall and thumbing through her phone. ‘I got places to go–’

‘No you don’t,’ Amelia Grimm butted in, feet up on the table.

‘And what would you know?’ Brittney asked. Amelia just smirked.

‘Right, well,’ Sally interrupted before the two could come to blows. ‘Well, that makes...’

There was a knock on the door and the entire room turned to look at the new arrivals.

‘Are we late?’ Jackie Carlton asked, stepping into the room and followed by another Sergeant, Ella Midnight.

‘What’s it look like?’ Sally asked.

Jackie rolled her eyes and Ella said, ‘Relax, Donovan, it’s not like there’s gonna be a quiz.’

‘Ooh, will there be a quiz?’ Dimmock asked.

‘I swear to God, Mike, I am gonna knock you on your arse,’ Sally warned. Dimmock just grinned. ‘Jack, Johnlock or Mystrade?’

‘Johnlock all the way, baby,’ Jackie grinned. ‘I’m addicted.’

‘You’re a lunatic.’

‘And I love it,’ Jackie smiled.

‘Mystrade for me,’ Ella said and fell to sit beside Ashley and Carolyn, the two young girls still giggling together.

Sally rolled her eyes and made a note. ‘So, that makes it... thirteen for Johnlock... fifteen for Mystrade, and one on a tie.’

‘A tie?’ Dimmock scoffed. ‘The Holmeses will never agree to a tie.’

‘Nobody said you could speak, Dimmock,’ Sally growled.

Dimmock grinned. ‘Nobody said I _couldn’t_ speak, now did they?’

Sally groaned and rubbed her eyes. ‘You’re giving me a headache.’

‘It’s a gift,’ the young DI smirked.

‘Hey, does anyone know how this thing started?’ Slone asked.

‘I dunno, sex on the couch or something,’ Sally shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘Who’s winning?’ Donna asked.

‘Erm...’ Sally checked her notes. From what she’d gathered from Mrs Hudson, Lestrade’s various shouts, and Dimmock’s less than enthusiastic police work, the team currently in the lead were... ‘Mystrade.’

‘Boo yeah!’ Dimmock said, fist-pumping the air. ‘All you Johnlock scum are gonna owe me big!’

‘Shut it, Dimmock!’ Rhi shouted.

‘Up yours, Jones!’ Kathleen McEwan shouted back.

They started bickering and Sally just stared at the collected group, at some of Scotland Yard’s finest...

‘Eat shit, Egan!’ Dimmock snarled.

‘Bring it, Mikey!’ Slone growled.

‘Jesus Christ, I’ve turned them into lunatics,’ Sally sighed. She grabbed her notebook and headed out, leaving the “adults” to their discussions.


	17. Shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Beta:** chasingriver

Greg swung the young woman into his arms and she shouted, dropping the bag of electronics she’d stolen. iPhones, iPods, Play Station games, and all kinds of expensive stuff went spilling across the footpath.

With practised ease, Greg drew his handcuffs and wrenched the woman’s arms behind her. ‘You’re under arrest for breaking and entering, theft–’

The girl’s swearing drowned out Greg’s next words but the DI continued talking anyway. He kept one hand on the girl as he bent to put away all the evidence, a few citizens watching and taking pictures.

Greg marched the girl back to his unmarked car where Donovan was standing with the girl’s mate. He was scowling and trying to lash back and hit Donovan, who just squeezed his shoulders together tightly.

‘You got her?’ Donovan asked.

‘What’s it look like?’ Greg asked and dropped the bag on the ground. Donovan opened the car and pushed the guy in, Greg adding the girl.

The evidence went in the boot as Greg climbed in to drive back to Scotland Yard, leaving Donovan to talk to the uniforms.

‘I was on my lunchbreak,’ Greg told the two in the back. ‘So I’m not gonna go easy, alright? I’m fucking starving.’

The guy in the back snorted and let his head fall against the window.

‘So... names?’ Greg asked.

They ignored him.

‘This will all go a lot easier if you co-operate,’ Greg said, looking into the rear-view mirror as he pulled into traffic. ‘I’ve already got you on evading arrest.’

‘Hey, I know you,’ the girl said and sat forward. ‘You’re always in the paper. Detective Inspector... um... Lestrange?’

Greg frowned. ‘Lestrade, Gregory Lestrade.’

‘Right, that’s it,’ the girl said and tilted her head. ‘Isn’t there a Pool going on about you and your boyfriend?’

Greg nearly drove into a bus and had to swerve, horns honking and people swearing as he righted the car. ‘What?’ he shouted, eyes back on the road.

‘Yeah, something about Mystrade and Johnlock,’ the girl in the back said, now leaning between the seats.

‘How the fuck do you know about that?’

‘It’s all over John Watson’s blog,’ the girl smiled. ‘I take it he and Sherlock Holmes are Johnlock?’

Greg groaned and slammed a fist into the steering wheel. ‘Sally fucking Donovan,’ he muttered.

‘Put me down as Johnlock, would you?’ the girl said. ‘I don’t know who Mycroft is but I’ll support anything Sherlock does, that dude’s a bad arse mother fucker.’ She grinned. ‘Sabrina Evans.’

‘Sabrina what?’ Greg asked.

‘Evans, that’s my name,’ the girl said.

‘So you’ll tell me your name for some fucking pool but not because I asked?’

‘Yes.’

‘Plead insanity; you’ll get off,’ Greg muttered.

‘Johnlock!’ the girl shouted. ‘Johnlock, Johnlock, JOHNLOCK!’

Greg groaned and tried to block her out.

 

{oOo}

 

It was twenty minutes of Sabrina Evans shouting Johnlock and her friend begging to be put in a different cell before Greg could escape. He threw Sabrina into a cell, her asking if she could borrow fifty quid to put into the pool. When Donovan finally got back Greg shouted at her.

‘This fucking pool has gone far enough!’ he screamed. ‘Now I’ve got criminals, _criminals_ , betting on my sex life!’

‘Well stop having sex in public places,’ Sally shrugged. ‘I’ve got heaps of people in it.’

Greg fumed as he stalked away, Mike Dimmock scurrying past him and whispering about the pool to Sally. As soon as he got to his office, Greg grabbed his mobile and messaged John Watson.

 

_You prat, don’t talk about this fucking war on your blog! I’ve got criminals wanting to be in on the pool Sally has going!_

 

He managed to nearly break his toe kicking his desk before John texted back.

 

**What team did the crim go for?**

 

Greg scowled.

 

_Johnlock._

 

**Haha, Johnlock for the win!**

 

Greg cursed again and slammed his phone onto the desk, the back cover popping off. He groaned and fell to sit, rubbing at his eyes. Now he had to do paperwork about those two idiots. He wasn’t even in robbery but _nooo_ , they’d had to go and break into the electronics store across the street from where Greg was having lunch.

Speaking of lunch... Greg’s stomach growled and he sat up. Paperwork would have to wait, he needed food.

He’d just stepped out of Scotland Yard when a black car pulled up. Grinning, Greg pulled the door open and stepped in.

‘No food?’ he asked.

Mycroft chuckled and drew Greg in for a soft kiss. It was just them, Anthea nowhere to be seen. ‘I thought we could go somewhere for lunch, Gregory.’

‘Sounds good,’ Greg smiled and settled into his boyfriend’s side.

 

{oOo}

 

_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Emily Abbington_

_This war is hilarious! Did you see Lestrade's face when that girl wanted in on the bet? Put me down for Mystrade, Sal._

 

Later that night, Greg was sleeping peacefully in their bed. Mycroft had taken him to a lovely lunch, had shared a tale about Sherlock when he was young (apparently thirteen-year-old Sherlock Holmes refused to change into his swimmers so had jumped into the pool in his school uniform) and had kissed Greg into an oblivion before dropping him back at Scotland Yard.

Sally and Dimmock had both taken advantage of his good mood to butter him up for betting on him (Greg might be in the pool but he was still ticked off about it). He'd charged the girl and her friend, the girl demanding to be put into the pool yet again (and Sally had put her in), enjoyed a nice afternoon of boring paperwork, and had gone home with his boyfriend.

Greg had been in the mood for sex but Mycroft had been busy with another top-secret file that the DI was sure were plans to invade some country... or maybe details of alien visits. Mycroft scoffed at his ideas but he never said _no_ , now did he?

So it was with surprise that Greg woke to someone kissing his neck. Very familiar lips trailed down to his collarbone, where his ratty t-shirt was pulled up so Mycroft could get at a nipple. A warm, wet tongue licked across his right nipple, the nub hardening to a point.

Greg groaned and said with a sleep-husky voice, 'Thought you were working?'

Mycroft chuckled against his chest, warm breath ghosting Greg's skin and making him shiver. 'I was,' he said slowly, 'but I got bored.'

And nothing was more dangerous than a bored Holmes. Like Sherlock, Mycroft detested boredom. But unlike Sherlock, Mycroft didn't shoot walls... he most likely shot people... and fucked Greg.

Greg was getting harder the longer Mycroft lay atop him. Their past few sexual encounters had all been Greg leading. While there was no definite dom or sub in their sex life, Greg had to admit that most of the time Mycroft took control. And Greg quite liked that.

Mycroft was suckling on his left nipple now, dexterous fingers playing with the other wet nub. He twisted and pulled, Greg gasping beneath him. His shirt was bunched up under his arms and neck, making it difficult for the DI to watch his boyfriend tend to his chest.

A warm hand trailed down his ribs, ghosting the hair littering his flat stomach before going lower. Greg let out a breathy moan as Mycroft's hand brushed the noticeable bulge in his boxers.

Suddenly Mycroft grabbed his wrists and pulled them up. Greg gasped as his hands were slammed into the headboard. Something soft, like silk, was wrapped around his wrists. He was tied securely to the headboard and Greg looked up.

'Safe word?' the elder Holmes asked.

'Anderson,' Greg said.

Mycroft smirked before letting his eyes trail down Greg's half-dressed form. 'Mr Lestrade, I fear you've gone too long without punishment.'

Greg frowned. 'Punishment?'

A sharp slap to the hip had Greg gasping again. 'Now, is that anyway to speak to your superior?' Mycroft asked.

'N-No,' Greg said, recognising the dominance in Mycroft's words and look. It seemed that tonight Mycroft was the dom and Greg was his sub. 'Sorry, sir.'

Mycroft smiled and rubbed Greg's hip. 'Very good, Lestrade. Now, perhaps you are wondering what I've tied you up with?' Greg nodded. 'I was at 221B earlier today and happened upon a certain purple shirt of my brother's.'

Greg grinned. He knew the shirt well; John called it "The Purple Shirt of Sex". And with good reason; Sherlock looked delicious in it.

Greg's thoughts were pushed away when Mycroft grabbed his hair. He wrenched the DI's head up and hissed in his ear, 'Did I give you permission to think about my brother?'

'N-No, I'm sorry,' Greg gasped as Mycroft's fingers tightened in his hair.

'No, I didn't,' Mycroft said angrily. 'You will think about _me_ while we're together, do you understand?'

'Yes, sir,' Greg said. He was let go and Mycroft pressed his face to the older man's neck. He breathed in deeply, nuzzling Greg's skin with his nose.

'Delicious,' he murmured. His tongue flicked out to lick at Greg's warm skin and the DI groaned. 'Feel free to move,' Mycroft said as he slid down Greg's body. 'I like a cheeky sub.'

Mycroft kissed and bit his way down Greg's neck, over his shirt, and to his chest. He once against attacked Greg's nipples but this time there was purpose to his movements; this was all about dominance and pain. He bit down sharply and Greg groaned, unconsciously spreading his legs wider as pleasure raked his body.

The politician smirked and dug his nails into Greg's ribs. He knew the DI liked a bit of pain and thought it was about time he got that. Greg had been working too hard, had let this pool and war get under his skin. It was Mycroft's job to make him relax.

And what better way than to fuck his brains out?

Mycroft relished that he was allowed to do this; that he was the one who could see Gregory Lestrade, respected DI and good man, writhing about in pleasure like a wanton little whore. He could feel Greg's cock straining against the thin cotton of his boxers and it made him even harder.

Mycroft moved off the bed and Greg's lust-darkened eyes followed him. He didn't move, waiting to see what Mycroft would do. Smiling, Mycroft reached up and began to undress.

Greg drank in the sight of Mycroft Holmes slowly drawing his waistcoat off, placing it on the armchair in the corner. He flicked each button of his expensive shirt open slowly, purposely grazing his fingers over the warm skin that was uncovered.

Greg groaned loudly and Mycroft smirked. He slid his shirt off and folded it, turning his back to Greg. He started on his trousers, sliding his belt free and dropping it on the floor. He popped the button of his trousers and wiggled his hips, letting the garment pool around his ankles. Greg gave another wanton moan as Mycroft toed his shoes off, bending and giving the DI a good look at his arse as he pulled his socks off.

Socks and shoes placed on the floor, Mycroft folded his trousers and turned. He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxer-briefs and slid them down. Greg licked his lips hungrily as Mycroft was slowly exposed, cock thick and long, standing to attention against his flat stomach. Mycroft threw his underwear aside and went back to the bed.

He straddled Greg's chest and the DI gasped. Mycroft grasped his head with one hand and his cock with the other. Wetting his lips, Mycroft said, 'Now be a good little cock slut and pleasure me.'

He thrust his shaft into Greg's waiting mouth, the DI hungrily swallowing him down. Mycroft let out a moan as his cock was encased in warm wetness, Greg's tongue flat against the underside of his heated shaft.

Mycroft paused to enjoy it before sliding out. He grabbed Greg either side of his head and thrust back in. Greg moaned around him, relaxing his throat as Mycroft's cock pushed into his mouth and down his throat.

Mycroft fucked Greg's face slowly, wanting to build up to more punishing thrusts. He delighted in the way Greg's eyes flicked shut, the clear enjoyment written across his handsome face. His fingers dug into Greg's scalp as he thrust in harder, the DI moaning around his shaft.

Mycroft lifted himself onto his knees, one hand reaching behind him to find Greg's chest. He twisted a nipple and Greg gasped, the sound stimulating his cock even more and threatening to tip Mycroft over the edge. He thrust in harder, fucking Greg's face as he played with his nipple. Greg strained against the purple shirt, the bed rocking gently with their movements.

'Fuck,' Mycroft grunted, thrusting in hard. 'Do you like that?'

Greg managed a jerky head movement that Mycroft assumed was a nod. He was breathing in heavily through his nose, trying to fill his lungs with oxygen whenever he could. Mycroft angled himself to cut off Greg's air every time he thrust in. The DI grunted and his eyes flew open. They were dark with fresh arousal and Mycroft smiled.

He pulled out and Greg whined, licking at the head of Mycroft's cock and lapping away pre-come. Mycroft shuddered and said, 'In time.'

Greg groaned in annoyance but there was little he could do. He was achingly hard now and wanted Mycroft to fuck him. Mycroft slid down his body until he was level with Greg's own cock. He licked teasingly at his cotton-trapped erection and Greg tried not to push into it. He knew Mycroft would just wait longer and exercised all his self-control to stay still.

Mycroft chuckled, hands rubbing Greg's stomach. 'My, my, look at you,' he said softly. 'What do you want, Mr Lestrade?'

'You,' Greg answered without hesitation.

Mycroft smiled. 'And what, exactly, do you want from me?'

'Um... I want you to touch me,' Greg said, 'sir.'

Mycroft's smile broadened. Suddenly he ripped Greg's boxers down, nails digging in and leaving angry red stripes down the DI's thighs. Greg hissed in pain, cock bobbing against his stomach. Mycroft got his boxers completely free and tossed them aside. He sat back on his heels, bright and intelligent eyes roaming up and down Greg's tied-up form.

'Hmm,' he murmured, 'perhaps you need it now.'

'I do, sir, please,' Greg said, not opposed to begging this early in the game.

'You disappoint me,' Mycroft said. 'Here I thought I'd have to work to have you begging.'

'Please,' Greg begged again, 'I need it, sir.'

He'd had a tough day, what with the pool and that stupid girl interrupting his lunch break. Mycroft could see that and decided to cut the games short. He could always play with Greg another day.

He sighed again, fingers absently stroking Greg's leg. 'I used to have to work for your submission, Mr Lestrade. It seems I've broken you.'

Greg frowned at him (though it was a frown drowned in lust). 'You do,' he said shortly.

Suddenly Mycroft grabbed his hips and flipped Greg, the DI gasping in pain. His cock was pushing annoyingly into the mattress and his arms ached, wrists burning against the shirt.

'I've had enough of your attitude,' Mycroft hissed as he straddled Greg's hips. He leaned over and pulled the top drawer of their bedside table open, taking out a bottle of lube. Greg trembled in desire as Mycroft popped the cap and slicked his fingers. He moved back only far enough to get at Greg's arse.

He split his cheeks with one hand before thrusting two fingers in. Greg jolted in pain, teeth biting into his bottom lip as Mycroft instantly filled him. He pushed in and out roughly, purposely missing Greg's prostate. The older man groaned, trying not to thrust back. It hurt, yeah, but it was a good hurt, one that added to the ache that had built in his crotch.

Suddenly the fingers were gone and something much larger and harder was sliding into his arse. Greg bit the pillow beneath his head, sweat breaking out on his forehead as Mycroft slid all the way in.

The politician let out a groan, Greg's muscles squeezing his cock tightly. 'So lovely,' he said breathlessly. He stroked a hand up and down Greg's back, taking a minute to let the DI adjust to the intrusion. 'Now listen to me, Mr Lestrade,' Mycroft said, 'you are here for my pleasure, nothing more.'

It was his politely threatening politician tone and it made Greg's blood boil with need.

'I will come first, is that clear?' Mycroft said, like he was dictating an unpleasant business meeting. 'I will fill your tight little hole and you'll like it like the whore you are.'

'Mmf,' Greg mumbled against the pillow in his mouth.

Mycroft grabbed his head and Greg spat the pillow case from his lips. 'Is that clear?' he demanded.

'Yes, sir,' Greg groaned as Mycroft rolled his hips, cock long and thick inside him.

'Marvellous,' Mycroft said before pulling out. He thrust back in hard and Greg grunted, muscles aching and arse burning. He couldn't deny that he was getting off on this. Mycroft had him pinned to the mattress and his arms were aching, wrists still tied together. His arse was wonderfully full and his head was bent back, Mycroft's fingers tight in his hair.

The whole submissive thing was a kink Mycroft had helped him discover. Nothing pleased Greg more then to submit to Mycroft completely. It made his brain shut up and his body tingle, every touch, every kiss, every whispered or ordered word like a dose of arousal that shot straight to his cock. It made him throb and ache for release, especially when Mycroft ordered him not to come.

It was easier said than done, though. Mycroft's balls were slapping into his arse, cock filling him over and over again as each thrust pounded him into the mattress. Mycroft was grunting behind him and Greg could picture it; normally polite mouth falling open in pleasure, skin red and glistening with sweat, hair all over the place as he lost himself in Greg's body.

Greg's cock was rubbing against the sheets, stimulating Greg wonderfully and making him groan. He was so very close to coming but Mycroft's words made him push his arousal down. Mycroft was coming first, Greg had been ordered to let him come first.

So the DI clenched his muscles, Mycroft grunting behind him. He clenched every time Mycroft thrust in and started groaning softly under his breath, hoping to hurry Mycroft along. God did he need to come.

'Oh, _sirrrr_ ,' Greg moaned, elongating the last word. 'Mr Holmes, that's _so_ good.'

'Fuck,' Mycroft grunted, fingers digging into Greg's shoulders as he let the DI's head drop.

'Ah, so good,' Greg moaned again. 'Fuck me, please!'

Mycroft groaned, losing some control as he thrust into Greg again.

'Fuck me like the cock slut I am,' Greg said, feeling Mycroft's thrusts begin to lose some control. 'I love it, sir, when you take me,' he continued. 'I love it when you own me.'

'G-Greg,' Mycroft moaned.

'I'm such a filthy little whore,' Greg groaned, the words spurring him on as well as Mycroft. 'Fuck, I love it, I'm such a slut.'

Mycroft swore.

'I'm yours,' Greg said. 'All yours, Mr Holmes...' He groaned when Mycroft hit his prostate. 'Y-Yours, Mycroft.'

Mycroft's nails sank into Greg's skin as, with one last thrust, he came. He swore loudly as he spilled into his partner, hips jolting and breathing stopping completely. Pleasure cascaded over his body, pushing aside Mycroft's thoughts completely.

Greg groaned as he felt Mycroft come, his insides feeling wet and filled. Mycroft pulled out quickly and flipped Greg around again, the DI grunting against his restraints. Mycroft's eyes were dark and glazed as two fingers thrust back into Greg's hole. He leaned down and took Greg's cock in his mouth, lapping away pre-come and stroking the heated flesh.

'Fuck, let me come!' Greg shouted, back arching slightly off the bed.

Mycroft nodded and sucked harder, fingers stroking his prostate. It was all Greg needed and he climaxed violently, screaming out into the silent room as he came down Mycroft's throat. He shook and shuddered through his orgasm, Mycroft swallowing him down.

Greg's cock slipped from Mycroft's lips, the elder Holmes licking him clean. He withdrew his fingers and licked them clean too, Greg groaning at the sight. Mycroft reached up and untied him, using the shirt to clean them both up. He tossed it aside and crawled up the bed, pulling the covers over them both.

He took Greg's hands in his own and inspected his bruised and red wrists. 'Did I hurt you?' Mycroft asked, dominance gone to be replaced with the usual polite and caring boyfriend Greg loved.

'M'fine,' Greg mumbled.

Mycroft smiled and kissed his wrists before saying, 'I had hoped to play a bit more. Unfortunately, your words undid me.'

Greg chuckled and leaned over to kiss the politician. 'It's fine, really, just what I needed,' he said. 'We can play some other night.'

'Mm, I'll hold you to that,' Mycroft said as he pulled Greg closer. Both yawned and snuggled under the covers, sleep overtaking them quickly.

 

{oOo}

 

_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Lisa Lynch_

_Seriously, Dimmock's running around like a little kid, shouting Mystrade this and Mystrade that. Well I'm Johnlock, I wanna see his face when he loses :D_

 

'Sherlock... I might just kill your brother.'

Sherlock grimaced as he deleted the photo Mycroft had sent him. He knew that shirt, it was John's favourite on him, and it was covered in... Sherlock deleted those thoughts instantly.

'I'm serious,' the doctor continued. 'I hate him, I hate Greg, they need to die.'

'It was just a shirt.'

'No it wasn't!' John said, close to shouting. 'That was... The Purple Shirt of _Sex_ ,' he growled, like that was supposed to explain his suddenly murderous thoughts.

'John, Sherlock said, 'it was just a shirt.' Yes, he was a little ticked off that Mycroft had taken his shirt and used it in _that_ manner, but honestly...

John growled and stood, stalking into the kitchen to make tea. 'You don't understand,' the shorter man mumbled.

'No, I don't,' Sherlock agreed and sat back on the couch.

 _They'll pay for this,_ John thought angrily. _Taking that shirt... honestly! I'd never take something that Greg or Mycroft loved, like... like..._

John grinned and stepped back into the sitting room. 'Sherlock?'

'Mm?'

'Can you steal Greg's handcuffs?'

Sherlock blinked before chuckling. 'Oh, John.'

John grinned.


	18. Handcuffs

_Text to: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Ellie Song_

_Dimmo, you better watch out, Sal's on the prowl. Said something about Anderson pissing her off. Anyway, Mystrade for me._

 

'That was my favourite shirt!'

'It wasn't _your_ shirt.'

'It looked gorgeous on Sherlock!'

'John, he said he had others.'

'That's not the point!' John snarled, close to shouting. He, Greg, and Sherlock were standing outside Scotland Yard. It was dark, the DI was tired, and Mycroft was on his way. John didn't care though; Greg had a lot of explaining to do.

'Come on,' Greg tried yet again, puffing on a cigarette. 'It was just-'

'If you say "just a shirt" one more time I swear to God I'll-'

'Come now, Doctor Watson, there's no need for vulgar language.'

The group turned to see Mycroft, the elder Holmes leaning against one of his never ending black cars. Greg grinned and brushed past Sherlock in his haste to get away from John.

'See you later!' he shouted and jumped into the car. Mycroft smiled at them pleasantly before following.

John and Sherlock watched the black car pull away, the shorter man fuming. When it was out of sight, his entire body relaxed and he turned to grin at his boyfriend.

'Well?'

Sherlock smirked and dug a hand into his coat pocket. He pulled out police-issue handcuffs, Greg's to be exact, and John chuckled.

He quickly pecked Sherlock on the lips and said, 'I love you, you know that?'

'I do,' Sherlock said. 'I also know that Mycroft likes these handcuffs so... we must dirty them as soon as possible.'

'Where?' John asked and raised his eyebrows when Sherlock pointed at Scotland Yard. 'You can't be serious.'

'We owe Sergeant Donovan something,' Sherlock said and walked into the building.

'What?' John asked as he jogged to catch up.

Sherlock smirked as he and John stepped into the elevator. 'A ride on Anderson's desk.'

 

{oOo}

 

_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Anna Gassen_

_Johnlock. Also, Dimmock's hiding out in Lestrade's office._

 

'What?'

'Is Anderson in the morgue?'

'Erm... no, he's not,' Sally said, looking from the Freak to the doctor. 'Why?'

Sherlock smiled. 'Well, do you remember a few weeks ago when you asked me to get back at Anderson for you?'

'Yes...' Sally said slowly.

'John and I are here to do just that,' Sherlock said.

John winked at her and Sally held up her hands. 'Fine, I'll keep him occupied if he comes back _only_ if you tell me everything that's happened so far in this war. I'm a bit behind and there's a fair amount of people in the pool.'

'I'll text you later,' John promised as he, Sherlock and Sally made their way down to the morgue. They checked to make sure the morgue was empty before Sally locked the doors for them.

Sherlock pulled his coat and scarf off, lying them on one of the metal exam tables. John shrugged off his jacket and watched as Sherlock walked over to Anderson's desk.

It was in the corner up against the wall, covered in stacks of files, pens and pencils, as well as a computer. Sherlock threw it all aside (minus the computer) and leaned back against it.

'Well, Doctor Watson,' he said and folded his arms. John swallowed thickly. 'I do believe I'm having a problem over here.'

'And what's that, Mr Holmes?' John asked.

Sherlock smiled. 'My cock is getting rather hard and my trousers are in the way. Do you think you can do something about that?'

'Oh, I believe I can,' John said and walked over to him. He stood before Sherlock, looking down at his trousers. 'I'm a rather good doctor,' John said, reaching out and brushing his fingers over Sherlock's crotch. Sherlock remained silent as he continued. 'Top three percent of my class,' John said, touching Sherlock more.

'Is that so?' the genius murmured, eyes darkening but body calm and controlled.

'Mm,' John nodded, 'Scotland Yard doesn't hire just anybody.'

'They hired Anderson.'

John used both hands to pull at Sherlock's shirt, hiking the dark blue fabric out of the expensive trousers. He brushed his knuckles along Sherlock's smooth, pale skin. 'I do believe Doctor Anderson fucked his way into this job.'

Sherlock grinned. 'Do you suppose it has anything to do with that DI?'

'Lestrade?' John asked with a smirk and Sherlock nodded. 'No, he's bending over for some political type; red-brown hair, blue eyes, sometimes acts like a knob.'

'Be careful what you say, Doctor Watson,' Sherlock said as his belt was undone, the leather sliding through John's fingers. 'Those government types have eyes and ears everywhere.'

'I hope they do,' John grinned and licked his lips. He popped the button of Sherlock's trousers and pulled at the zipper. 'I want both of them to know exactly what we're up to.'

He reached into Sherlock's underwear and pulled out his half-hard cock. He palmed the heated flesh and stroked a few times, eyes fixed on Sherlock's crotch. Sherlock remained still the entire time, arms still crossed, watching John carefully.

'Hmm...' John said after a few minutes.

'What is it, Doctor?' Sherlock asked.

John smiled up at him. 'I do believe you have quite a serious problem, Mr Holmes.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and said, 'Oh?'

John nodded. 'Mm, very serious,' he said. 'You're only half hard, we'd better change that.'

'And how are we going to do that?'

John got down on his knees, hand still on Sherlock's prick. 'Well, the best way _I_ can think of is to give you a blow job. What do you say?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'If that's what you think will help.'

 

_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_You're a dead man._

 

John licked his lips again before leaning forward. He licked up and down Sherlock's cock, flattening his tongue to cover as much skin as possible. Sherlock made no movements, the picture of calm as he stood before his boyfriend.

John ran his tongue up and down Sherlock's cock until he was harder, his shaft lengthening in John's hand. Beads of pre-come started to ooze from his slit and John licked them clean, rolling his tongue and swallowing.

'Mm, tastes rather nice,' John commented. 'But I'd better have some more before I make a final decision.' He shuffled forward on his knees, placed one hand on Sherlock's right thigh, and took his cock in his mouth.

John only sucked half of Sherlock into his mouth before stopping. His lips were stretched wide around Sherlock's shaft, tongue lying beneath him. Pre-come trickled onto John's tongue and he moved back, hollowing his cheeks and sucking.

A small sound of enjoyment escaped Sherlock's lips but John ignored him. He focused on his task. John wrapped his hand around the base of Sherlock's cock and moved down, taking more of his shaft into his mouth. He swallowed when the head of Sherlock's cock hit the back of his throat and got a louder moan out of the consulting detective.

John bobbed up and down slowly, using his hand to stroke his boyfriend while at the same time tonguing the slit. He licked pre-come away and groaned in pleasure, looking up at Sherlock as he began to move quicker.

John's eyes were dark with arousal, his own cock pressing annoyingly against his jeans. Sherlock reached out and pushed a hand through John's hair, scraping his nails along the doctor's scalp and making John moan around him.

Letting both hands drop, John widened his mouth in clear invitation. Sherlock started thrusting, arse lifting off the desk as he pushed more of his cock into John's wet cavern. It was always amazing and Sherlock watched as John sucked him down, tongue lapping at the underside of his cock each time he pushed in. John flicked his tongue over the end of Sherlock's cock whenever he pulled out, Sherlock grunting at the feeling.

John pulled back completely and his left hand came up. He wrapped it around Sherlock's cock and pumped quickly, using his own saliva as lubricant to make jerking Sherlock off easier.

Sherlock watched him, biting his bottom lip and moaning. He had both hands back on the table and was gripping the edge tightly as John swallowed him again. He buried his face in Sherlock's ginger pubic hair. He breathed in deeply when Sherlock pulled out, oxygen suddenly flooding his lungs and brain and making him groan.

They continued for a few minutes, copious amounts of pre-come being swallowed by the doctor on his knees. Sherlock pulled out completely and grabbed John's face with both hands, smiling down at him.

'I don't think your problem's going to go away on it's own,' John commented, voice husky from deep-throating his partner.

'What do you suggest?' Sherlock asked.

'A prostate exam might do the trick.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'No, no, no, I don't think so, Doctor Watson.' John raised an eyebrow. 'I fear you yourself have gone too long without a thorough exam.'

'Is that so?' John asked and Sherlock nodded. 'Well, what do _you_ suggest?'

Sherlock smiled and said, 'I want you naked, Doctor Watson, and leaning against this rather lovely desk.'

 

_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_What did I do? Also, put Annie Madame down for Johnlock._

 

John stood and started undressing, Sherlock watching him the entire time. He kicked his shoes and socks off, jeans and underwear soon joining them on the floor. When his shirt had been unbuttoned and thrown aside, John leaned against Anderson's desk, hands splayed out, back to his boyfriend.

Sherlock was silent as he looked John over. The shorter man was already hard, cock standing against his stomach, the head glistening with pre-ejaculate.

Sherlock walked closer to his boyfriend and placed both hands on his shoulders. John shivered as Sherlock raked his nails down his tanned skin, stopping to cup and squeeze his arse. He spread John's cheeks and knelt on the floor.

John cursed as a warm, wet tongue licked up and down his arse before tonguing his hole. He shuddered as Sherlock licked and nipped at his right cheek before doing the same to the other. He came back to John's hole and circled it, one finger moving down to poke at it slowly.

'Fuck,' John swore again, head bent and shoulders tense as Sherlock rimmed him.

'What was that, Doctor Watson?' Sherlock asked pleasantly.

'Erm... it's been t-too long since I had a prostate- _ah_!' He cut himself off with a gasp when Sherlock's tongue pushed into his entrance. It only went half in before Sherlock pulled back to once more tongue his hole. 'F-Fuck, Sherlock.'

'Ah, ah, that's _Mr_ Holmes,' Sherlock reminded him. One of his hands snaked around John's body to grab his cock, making the doctor jump. 'Do remember that, Watson,' Sherlock said as he fisted John's shaft.

He went back to licking and sucking on John's arse, tongue only dipping in for a second or two before disappearing again. John was panting heavily as both his arse and cock got attention, the doctor trying hard not to thrust back to get more of his boyfriend's tongue.

Suddenly Sherlock thrust all the way in, tongue penetrating John so wonderfully. He curled and flicked, thrust and sucked, reducing the good doctor to a whining mess. John's body was heating up, his cock aching, and he squeezed his eyes shut to focus on the pleasure. It was roaring through his body, curling deliciously in his gut, but it wasn't enough. Sherlock's hand, his tongue, it just wasn't enough.

Sherlock sensed this and grinned as he licked and sucked John's hole. He pulled back and slapped John's arse lightly.

'Well, Doctor Watson, are you ready for that prostate exam?' Sherlock asked.

John groaned and nodded.

Sherlock smirked and kicked his shoes off. He slid from his trousers and underwear but let his jacket, shirt, and socks on. He slid across to smooth floor to the equipment cupboard, quickly pulling the door open. He found what he was locking for and came back.

'Sherlock?' John called, twisting to see where his boyfriend had gone.

'Mr Holmes,' Sherlock reminded him as he pulled on a latex glove. He grabbed his coat and went through the pockets, finding the tube of lubricant he'd brought. 'Now, Doctor Watson, you're going to feel some pressure.'

John smiled. 'Sounds lovely.'

'Ah, get a lot of prostate exams, do you?' Sherlock asked as he squeezed gel onto his covered fingers.

'No, I just like people sticking their fingers in my arse,' John said conversationally as Sherlock moved behind him.

'Hmm, you didn't strike me as gay,' Sherlock commented, placing his left hand on John's lower back. 'Spread your legs.'

'I'm not gay,' John said as he did as asked. 'I'm curious, is all. Besides, there's this one guy who can turn even the straightest man gay.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Oh really?'

John nodded and said, 'Yeah, he's really- son of a _bitch_!'

 

_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_The Chief asked if we're really betting on his best DI. You idiot, why'd you tell him? I'm in the shit._

 

Sherlock had thrust two fingers into him mid-sentence, making John swear and shake, shoulders bunched up as he tried to get used to the invasion.

'Now, now, surely you know that this goes much smoother when you relax,' Sherlock said, pushing his fingers deeper in.

John's voice was cracked as he said, 'M-Maybe I like it r-rough.'

'Really?' Sherlock mused. 'Well then...' He pulled both fingers out only to thrust three in. He was quickly swallowed to the knuckles, even with John's muscles protesting at the sudden intrusion.

'Fucking hell,' John grunted, thrusting back. 'That's... ah...'

'Nice?' Sherlock asked and John nodded quickly. 'It _does_ look lovely.'

'Should try it sometime,' John said weakly as Sherlock's fingers slid from his hole.

'Oh, I definitely will,' Sherlock said. He thrust back in hard and John swore again. Sherlock didn't give him time to get used to it; he thrust his fingers in and out, lube sliding down his latex-covered hand and dribbling from John's suddenly stretched hole.

'Ah God,' John groaned, eyes squeezed shut and body shaking. He felt the delicious burn crawling up his back from his arse, his body feeling nice and full. Sherlock's hand on his lower back was stroking soothingly even while his fingers thrust in and out at a blinding pace. 'God, thank you, Mr Holmes,' John said when he could speak clearly. 'You're right; it's been too long.'

Sherlock smiled and thrust in before curling his fingers. He pressed them against John's prostate, the shorter man jumping. His mouth fell open when Sherlock continued to massage the bundle of nerves, knowing that each stroke built on the pleasure John was feeling.

'I wonder, can you come from prostate stimulation alone, Doctor Watson?' Sherlock asked. 'I know I can, but I'm curious as to whether other men can or not.'

'U-Usually I n-need... other... s-stimulation,' John groaned, Sherlock torturing him ruthlessly. 'But right now I m-might just... just... ah!'

Sherlock slid his fingers out and smeared lube onto his cock. He had to add a bit more and pulled the glove off, dropping it on Anderson's chair. 'Well, we can't have that, Doctor Watson,' he said and pulled John up. He made him turn and pressed their lips together for a sloppy kiss.

John groaned against his mouth. It was the first time they'd kissed since entering the morgue and John had forgotten how arousing a simple tongue-dance with Sherlock Holmes could be. They kissed until both their lips were puffy and red, Sherlock licking his own and smiling.

'Now, do as I say, Doctor Watson,' the genius said and climbed onto the table. He laid on his back, legs bent and feet planted firmly on the edge. He had to take his socks off to find purchase and turned to John. 'Straddle me, facing my legs.'

 

_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_;)_

 

John complied and after much grunting, swearing, and a knee to the ribs, John got into position. He was sitting on Sherlock's abdomen, body weight on his knees to make sure he didn't crush the skinny man with his weight.

Sherlock grabbed his cock with one hand and John's hip with the other. 'Slide further forward.' John did and Sherlock continued. 'Now lift yourself up and slowly move back down.'

John lifted himself and felt Sherlock's cock push at his entrance. He bit his lip as he slid back down, sheathing Sherlock's cock in his arse. He let out a breathy moan and heard Sherlock do the same.

Suddenly something cold was placed against John's right wrist and he jumped. Before he could do anything, Sherlock had twisted his arm back and locked one of the cuffs around his wrist tightly. He grabbed John's other arm and did the same.

He tightened them so they'd bite into John's wrists if he tried to move. John's hands were stuck behind his lower back, shoulders already protesting against the restraints. It sent another shot of arousal down his spin and his cock jumped.

'Now, Doctor Watson,' Sherlock said, 'I believe you'll have to let _me_ take over.'

'Like you haven't already,' John commented.

Sherlock slapped his arse and John jolted. The younger man's cock moved inside him and both groaned. 'No need to be cheeky,' Sherlock said before grabbing both of John's hips. 'Now, let's see what we can do.'

John leaned heavily against Sherlock's legs as the consulting detective thrust up. He had absolutely no control over this situation and the genius used it to his advantage. He squeezed John's hips tightly, fingers digging into the soft, tanned flesh, as he planted his feet on the desk and pushed up.

John had no choice but to lean forward and bounce. Sherlock was penetrating him deeply, cock stretching and filling him so wonderfully. Each thrust hit his prostate and just added onto the pleasure John was feeling.

He made no attempts to stifle his groans as Sherlock fucked him, the consulting detective grunting behind him as he continued to fuck his boyfriend.

'God, that's _so_ good,' John moaned loudly. 'Ah, Mr Holmes, fuck... you know what you're doing.'

'Practice makes... p-perfect,' Sherlock got out as he thrust up particularly hard, John's cock sliding along his thighs. 'I've got a wonderful man, older than... than me... he knows just what to- _ah_ \- to d-do.'

John chuckled through his moans, body tingling and gut clenching. 'Bet he knows how to t-take care of you...'

'That he does,' Sherlock said before thrusting up. John nearly went flying but Sherlock grabbed the handcuffs, pulling the doctor back. Pain shot up his wrists and arms, making John hiss. His shoulders were aching and it mixed deliciously with the long and thick cock filling his arse.

_We'll definitely be trying this again,_ John mused as another stab at his prostate made his balls tighten.

He was leaking all over Sherlock's legs and John groaned loudly. He tried to look back but couldn't see Sherlock properly. So he focused on Sherlock's hot and sweaty body beneath his, legs tensed and muscles straining to keep up what they were doing.

Sherlock was panting loudly and one of his large, smooth hands was grabbing John's hip, pushing and pulling down to help him penetrate the doctor. His other hand was on the handcuffs, fingers wrapped around the two cuffs to keep John in place. With every particularly hard thrust he pulled back, making John gasp as pain and pleasure shot through his body.

John wasn't going to last long in this position. Every few thrusts his cock was sliding against Sherlock's legs, being stroked wonderfully. Sherlock was fucking him hard and deep, hitting John's prostate each time. His arms ached, his wrists were being chaffed, and his wounded shoulder was starting to burn.

It was absolutely breathtaking and John started groaning loudly. Sherlock encouraged him, stroking John's back and muttering filthy things behind him. John's body began to tense, his balls tighten, and that familiar ball of pleasure in his gut was about to burst.

'Fuck, Sherlock, yes!' John shouted, eyes shut and sweat trailing down his nose. 'I'm gonna... ah, yes, just there!'

Sherlock pounded into him, the desk protesting beneath their combined weight and sliding along the floor. The computer was smacking against the wall but neither paid it any attention as John's arse clenched.

He came explosively, showering Sherlock's legs in come. He shook violently and cursed any god he could think of as his fingers clenched into fists. Sherlock kept fucking him, his own orgasm not far off. When his balls tightened he pulled out and shoved John forward, the doctor panting against his knees.

Sherlock wrapped his fingers around his cock and jerked quickly, groaning as pleasure cascaded through his body. 'Yes, yes, John, fuck!' Sherlock shouted hoarsely as he came, come spurting across his stomach, cock, and John's arse. He groaned and rubbed his shaft between John's cheeks, breathing heavily as his body shook.

They were both silent apart from deep inhales and exhales, Sherlock and John trying to calm their exhausted bodies. When Sherlock could think clearly, he sat up and said, 'You okay?'

'Mm,' John mumbled. 'So good.'

Sherlock smirked and said, 'Well, Doctor Watson, I believe that was a very good prostate exam; you're completely healthy.'

'Oh, I dunno,' John said and sat up. 'Might need a few more thorough examinations just to make sure.'

'I believe I can do that,' Sherlock said. He leaned forward and kissed his boyfriend, both losing themselves in the familiar lips, the stroking tongues, the hot breath they shared.

John groaned when they broke apart and said, 'Alright, I'm starving and my shoulder hurts. Un-cuff me.'

Sherlock was silent and John tried to turn to see him.

'Sherlock? Gonna un-cuff me?'

'Now, John... don't get mad...' Sherlock started slowly.

John was instantly suspicious. 'What?'

'Well, I stole Lestrade's handcuffs but... erm... I just realised something.'

'And that would be?'

'I didn't steal the key.'

 

{oOo}

 

_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_Bastard._

 

Sally Donovan smirked at the sight. Sherlock Holmes was completely dressed and looked like he'd had his ear chewed off. John had his jeans and shoes on but his jacket and shirt were on the floor. His hands were cuffed behind his back and he burned red as he turned, Sally quickly un-cuffing him.

'I don't even want to know,' she said.

'We broke Anderson's desk,' Sherlock said and pointed at it.

Sally turned to see that one of the legs had snapped off the table, leaving it sitting at an odd angle. 'How?' Sally asked.

Sherlock looked down and John said, 'Let's just say that tables dislike consulting detectives being pushed against them.'

Sally smirked and watched as John finished getting dressed and glared at Sherlock.

'Um... Angelo's?' Sherlock said.

John snorted and stormed from the morgue, Sherlock trailing after him. 'You didn't have to push me into the desk,' he mumbled under his breath. He shut up when John glared at him.

 

{oOo}

 

'Son of a bitch.'

'What's wrong?'

'Sherlock stole my fucking handcuffs.'

'Oh... you can always replace them.'

'Mycroft, that's _really_ not the point.'

'What _is_ the point?'

'He stole them and cuffed John... and had his way with him on Anderson's desk.'

'... why?'

'The text says something about Sally... I really don't want to know.'

Mycroft chuckled and drew Greg back onto the bed. He trailed a finger along Greg's chest, a nipple, and the DI shivered. 'Gregory, I have plenty of handcuffs lying around. I can have some delivered right now. If Sherlock thinks this will upset me he is sadly mistaken.'

'I thought you liked my handcuffs,' Greg said as he turned to face his boyfriend.

'I do,' Mycroft nodded, 'you cuffing me like you have so many criminals with those same handcuffs...' He trailed off and licked his lips, eyes darkening in lust. 'Well, we'll get you some new ones, won't we?'

Greg grinned and pushed Mycroft down. He shifted on the bed until he was straddling the politician's thighs. 'I'll have to tie you down some other way,' he teased and grabbed Mycroft's wrists.

Smiling, Mycroft leaned up and kissed him.


	19. Crop

Greg had new handcuffs and he and Mycroft were quick to break them in. Mycroft's wrists were chafed red, dark purple in some places. In others they'd bitten into his skin and actually drawn blood.

Not that Mycroft cared, of course. He liked a bit of rough sex, especially with Gregory. As long as the bruises or cuts didn't show above his clothing he was all for it.

Greg didn't mind rough sex either and received it more then Mycroft. He and Mycroft didn't have any set rules in their sex life. If they were doing something kinky or rough they had safe words. If the word was said they stopped, end of story. There was no definite dom, no man who always submitted. They took turns, they took each other, and neither had ever had someone who understood their body so well.

But submitting to Mycroft Holmes was a personal kink of Greg's. There was something about the younger man, something that made Greg want to get down on his knees. It was probably the expensive suits, always well-tailored, always perfectly fitted, and always so goddamn perfect it looked like Mycroft did no work at all.

It was probably his presence too. Mycroft radiated power like John Watson radiated solider, like criminals could sense that Greg was a cop from the way he walked and talked and acted. And Sherlock... well people knew he was insane from one glance.

Mycroft's very presence often made Greg want to rip his clothes off and submit, which was why, when the kinkier sex came up, Greg often found himself on the receiving end.

And when Mycroft said dirty words, when he hissed filthy things in Greg's ear... it was dirtier and filthier than anything anyone else could say.

He enjoyed dominating Mycroft, liked tying him up with his own tie and taking him over the sofa, or handcuffing him to the headboard and pounding into him so hard he couldn't sit properly for a week. But it was the days _after_ that that Greg liked a little bit more. The days when Mycroft had to prove that he was just as dominating as before.

That he owned Greg like nobody else ever had.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text to: Sally Donovan_

_From: Hino Hatari_

_I can't believe the Holmeses are really doing this... it's insane. I mean, more insane than the Freak insane. Put me down for Mystrade, this is SO gonna end badly :)_

  
  


Two days after their handcuff-play, Greg was called from his office. He grabbed his coat and shouldered it on before stepping out into the early evening air. A black car was waiting, the door open, and Greg slid into the backseat.

Mycroft was sitting alone and the car immediately pulled into traffic.

'Erm... where are we going?' Greg asked.

Mycroft hadn't made any move to kiss him and Greg gulped.

'Mycroft?'

'Mr Holmes,' Mycroft corrected.

Greg shivered and tried not to show how turned on he already was. Of course Mycroft could see it but pretending was always so much fun.

'Sorry, Mr Holmes,' Greg said. 'May I ask where we're going?'

Mycroft looked at him and smirked sinfully, Greg's cock jumping in his trousers.

'Oh, Detective Inspector Lestrade... you'll find out soon enough.'

Greg bit his lip to stiffle the groan and Mycroft's smirk widened.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text to: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Alexus Driver_

_Dimmo, you prat, hiding in Lestrade's office? I heard Sal tore you a new one. Anyway, put me in this pool thingy as Johnlock. I reckon the younger Holmes is just crazy enough to out-do his brother._

  
  


Mycroft got out of the car first and Greg waited until he was summoned to slide out. He blinked as the car pulled away, going to do whatever it was that Mycroft's drivers did while they were waiting for their boss.

'221?' Greg questioned as he looked from Speedey's to the front door.

Mycroft just smiled and crooked his finger, making sure Greg followed him across the road. He knocked and Mrs Hudson answered, the woman smiling warmly at them.

'Mycroft, Gregory, wonderful to see you.'

'You too, Mrs Hudson,' Mycroft said pleasently while Greg smiled. 'Is Sherlock in?'

'No, he and John went for dinner about twenty minutes ago,' Mrs Hudson said. 'They probably won't be back for an hour or two.'

'Oh, a pity,' Mycroft said, lips smiling but eyes darkening. 'Well, there's something in their flat that Detective Inspector Lestrade and I need... would it be a bother for you to let us in?'

Mrs Hudson looked him over carefully before glancing at Greg, who's eyes were down, shoulders slouched, the picture of submission. She smiled wickedly and Greg just knew that she knew what they were up to.

'Of course not, dear,' she said and stepped aside, letting the two men in. 'Take all the time you need,' she grinned before shutting the door and disappearing.

'Pleasent woman,' Mycroft commented before taking the stairs, Greg following. 'Of course she's a pervert.'

Greg snorted but said nothing else as Mycroft opened the unlocked door of 221B. Greg walked inside and Mycroft closed the door before turning to face him.

'Take your clothes off and go stand in the kitchen.'

It was an order and Greg hastened to follow it, kicking his shoes off and tugging his jacket and shirt off as quickly as he could. Mycroft disappeared and Greg got naked, standing in the kitchen and looking around.

The place was as disorderly as usual but Greg was happy to note that there weren't any experiments boiling or growing on the table. There were just a few containers of things Greg didn't want to know about, as well as glass vials, a microscope, bunsen burner, and utensils that he been bent and burned beyond recognition.

  
  


_Text To: Jeannie D_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_Hey, you wanted in the pool, right?_

  
  


Mycroft had reappeared and he placed his umbrella against the wall. Greg noted that he was holding something else and he blinked when he recognised Sherlock's riding crop.

It was a long tool with a dark brown leather handle, a glossed wodden finish, and a leather strap hanging off the end. Greg knew that that bit could really hurt but trusted that Mycroft knew what he was doing.

The elder Holmes shrugged his jacket off and folded it neatly before placing it on one of the kitchen chairs. He put the riding crop down only long enough to pull his cufflinks off, those going in his pocket, before the man rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

'Naked, good,' Mycroft nodded, folding his arms when he was done. He looked Greg over like he was a piece of meat, blue eyes narrowing as they glanced over his crotch, his arse. Greg shivered under the look and Mycroft smiled. 'Place your hands on the table, legs apart.'

Greg did as asked, palms pressed to the cold wooden surface, legs spread.

Mycroft stepped forward, leather shoes tapping against the kitchen floor. Warm hands grapped Greg's thighs and he choked back a gasp as Mycroft said, 'Further apart.' Greg moved his legs, feet shuffling. 'Bend over slightly, Detective Inspector.' He smiled when Greg did, fingers rubbing at his pale arse. 'Excellent.'

Mycroft turned around and picked up the riding crop, Greg watching as he stroked the smooth wood.

  
  


_Text to: Sally Donovan_

_From: Jeannie D_

_Yeah, it sounds epic. Dimmock's going on about it and I've seen Lestrade walking around like a lunatic. I'll go in for Johnlock._

  
  


'Do you know why you're here, Detective Inspector?'

'Um... n-not really, sir,' Greg said. His cock was already hardening, twitching as if begging for attention, and Mycroft's intelligent eyes glanced over it.

'Are you sure about that?' he asked.

Greg nodded.

'You have no idea why you're here, naked, with me,' Mycroft said.

'No,' Greg said.

He jolted when the leather end of the riding crop was placed between his shoulder blades, Mycroft pausing before stroking down his spine and to his arse. He stopped and went back up, Greg shivering, goosebumps appearing on his flesh.

He'd been spanked before. He'd been _cropped_ before. But he'd never been cropped by Mycroft. The younger man hadn't said anything sexual, hadn't cursed or shouted or done... anything, really. Yet Greg was hard, his muscles clenching and unclenching, and he bit his lip to stop moaning when the crop ghosted over his arse.

Suddenly Mycroft pulled back. 'Are you okay?' he asked softly.

'Fine,' Greg nodded.

Mycroft paused. 'You've done this before.'

A statement, not a question.

'Yes,' Greg answered honestly.

Mycroft nodded and stroked him with the crop again, first his spine, then his shoulders, moving down to his prickling arse. 'And?' he asked.

'I... I deserve it,' Greg said.

Mycroft tilted his head to regard Greg carefully. Greg knew that Mycroft was completely in control of himself. Where other people might get carried away, might hurt their partner, Mycroft wouldn't. He knew what Greg could handle, better then Greg knew himself, but of course he wanted to make sure. Mycroft Holmes always made _sure_.

He quickly came to the conclusion that Greg knew he didn't really deserve it, he just liked it. The DI liked submitting, he liked the pain, he liked being spread for Mycroft in any way the politician saw fit. It calmed him down, made him feel alive, and most importantly of all; it made him give up control.

Something Mycroft knew all about.

Mycroft smirked quickly and asked, 'Want to try again?'

Greg frowned. 'Try what again?'

'Tell me why you're here,' Mycroft said, getting straight back into the role.

'I don't know,' Greg answered.

The sharp crack of the crop hitting Greg's skin was just as delicious as the burn that shot through his body. Greg's hiss of pain turned into a wanton moan as his head hung, arms shaking against the table.

  
  


_Text to: Sally Donovan_

_From: Martha Hudson_

_Mycroft and Gregory are here and something's definitely going on. My boys WILL win, though ;)_

  
  


Mycroft rubbed the leather bit up and down the bright red mark, making Greg shiver again.

'I think you need to be punished, Detective Inspector,' Mycroft mused. 'You made these marks on my wrists...' He trailed off to touch one of the bruises, feeling a shot of lust lance through him at the memories of Greg fucking him into the mattress.

'You wanted it, _sir_ ,' Greg growled.

Mycroft chuckled and slapped Greg lightly, not hard enough to do anything other than make him jump. 'Did I?'

Greg nodded.

'And what, exactly, did I do to elicit such... punishment?' he enquired.

Greg swallowed thickly. 'You're a fucking prat who needs to be put in his- _ah_!' He hissed as Mycroft cropped him again, the hard wood of the riding tool slamming across both cheeks. He groaned and rolled his shoulders, breath coming in sharp gasps.

'I didn't say you could swear while answering me,' Mycroft said pleasently. 'Did I?'

Greg didn't answer and another slap had his knees threatening to buckle as fresh pain shot through him, washing over his brain and quickly turning to pleasure.

'I asked you a question, Lestrade,' Mycroft said, a thin note of anger working into his voice.

Greg wet his lips and took a deep breath before saying, 'I think you needed it, sir.'

'Needed what, exactly?' Mycroft asked, the leather end of the crop tracing his spine.

Greg shivered. 'You n-needed the pain,' he said. 'Sometimes we all need to be put in our place.'

Mycroft tilted his head to survey the DI, who waited silently. 'Is that so?' Greg nodded. 'Do you think that _you_ need to be put in your place?' Greg nodded again. 'How will that happen, Detective Inspector?'

Greg took another deep breath and said, 'I need to be cropped, sir, to be shown my proper place.'

Mycroft grinned broadly and Greg nearly groaned. Mycroft loved this, loved when Greg begged to be punished, when the DI had to convince _Mycroft_ that he deserved the pain. 'You need to be cropped?'

'Yes, sir.'

'How many times?'

'Ten,' Greg answered.

The crop stilled on his arse, sitting just between his cheeks.

'You need to be cropped ten times, Detective Inspector Lestrade?' Mycroft asked.

'Yes.'

'By me?'

'Only by you,' Greg said. 'I want you to punish me, Mr Holmes.'

'Because you deserve it,' Mycroft said, stepping further back. 'Because you're a filthy little cock slut who just _loves_ to be punished. Isn't that right?'

'Oh god, yes,' Greg nodded vigorously.

Mycroft smiled. 'If that's what you want, Detective Inspector.'

'It is,' Greg said.

'I want you to count,' Mycroft said, dropping his arm and the riding crop to his side. 'I want you to say, 'One strike for me, the filthy cock slut', after every hit.'

Greg blinked. 'That's a bit much, sir.'

Mycroft stormed forward and grabbed him by the back of the head, yanking until Greg was gasping and standing tall. 'Did I _ask_ for your opinion?'

'N-No,' Greg whimpered.

'No, I didn't,' he hissed. 'You'll say what I told you to say and you'll like it.'

He dropped Greg and the older man leaned heavily against the table, breathing deeply.

'Ready?' Mycroft asked.

Greg nodded.

'Say it.'

'I'm ready,' Greg said strongly.

  
  


_Text to: Martha Hudson_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_In your dreams, woman. The Freak is insane but his brother WILL win, the doc and sociopath are going down!_

  
  


Mycroft stepped further back and raised the crop. Greg tried to force himself to relax as silence descended on the kitchen, both men waiting.

The crop swung through the air and slammed into Greg's left cheek with just the right amount of pressure. It burned and made Greg jump, a hiss escaping through the DI's suddenly clenched teeth.

'Count!' Mycroft snarled.

'One strike for me,' Greg breathed heavily, 'the filthy cock slut.'

Mycroft smiled and stroked the red mark, tilting his head to look better. There were three pink marks across both of Greg's cheeks and another one on his left. Mycroft rubbed them both with the end of the crop before drawing back.

He smacked Greg again, the DI jolting and moaning. The pain sizzled up his body and quickly turned into pleasure.

'Two s-strikes for me,' Greg said, wetting his lips, 'the filthy cock slut.'

'Good boy,' Mycroft praised and Greg snorted.

He was hit again quickly on the opposite cheek, an aching, burning, _stinging_ pain filling him. It made his cock twitch as blood was quickly pumped to the organ.

'Three strikes,' Greg hissed out, 'for me, the filthy cock slut.'

'Can you handle more?'

'Yes,' Greg growled.

He braced himself as he heard the crop sing through the air before the wooden body slammed into him, making him jump even higher then before. The microscope and other equipment jolted as Greg leaned heavily against the table.

He was fully hard now, cock aching as his backside stung. He wanted nothing more to be filled but...

'Four strikes for me, the filthy cock slut,' Greg counted.

' _Very_ good,' Mycroft said. He slammed the crop across both of Greg's cheeks and the DI moaned wantonly, sagging against the table. His face was bright red, sweat forming on his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. 'Lestrade?'

'Five... five strikes,' Greg said, 'for me, the... the filthy cock slut.'

'Halfway,' Mycroft said, rubbing Greg's arse, the DI hissed. 'Can you handle five more?'

Greg nodded.

'Are you sure?' Mycroft asked.

Greg nodded again.

He cropped Greg quickly, the tool singing, Mycroft's knuckles white, Greg's entire body turning red and his arse shining brightly.

'Six strokes for me, the filthy cock slut,' Greg groaned, head tilting.

'Seven strokes... f-for me,' Greg choked out, lip bleeding from how hard he'd bitten, 'the filthy... cock slut...'

'Eight... eight s-strokes...' Greg managed.

Mycroft swung again and Greg whimpered in pain, head going fuzzy, cock so hard it hurt. 'N-Nine...'

The last hit went across both of Greg's cheeks and the DI finally collapsed. But Mycroft was quick and caught him, lowering Greg to the floor.

  
  


_Text to: Sally Donovan_

_From: Martha Hudson_

_Young people today, have no manners and no brains :D They're all my boys, Sergeant, but Sherlock will outsmart Mycroft, just you wait._

  
  


'You did so well, Detective Inspector,' Mycroft said as he put the crop on the table. 'You did so very well.'

'T-Ten,' Greg groaned, eyes flicking to Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled. 'You're such a little pain slut, aren't you?' he said.

'N-Not,' Greg said, breathing heavily, trying to blink through the haze of pleasure that had wrapped around his mind and body.

'Oh, you are,' Mycroft said. His right hand stroked down Greg's stomach, his hip, before circling to grasp his ragingly hard cock. 'Look at you, all hot and hard for me,' he whispered, Greg groaning. He squeezed and stroked up to the tip, which was covered in pre-come. 'Hot and hard for the man who spanked you like a naughty little boy.'

'D-Deserved it,' Greg said, ' _sir_.'

Mycroft said, 'Do you know what else you deserve?'

'What, sir?'

'A nice thorough pounding.' Greg groaned. 'A pounding so hard that you can't sit right at work.'

Mycroft stroked Greg slowly, the DI shivering in his arms.

'You didn't count properly,' Mycroft said, 'so you're going to stand against that table again while I fuck you like the whore you are.'

Greg was suddenly wrenched up, the time for rest clearly over. He was slammed hard against the table, glass vials falling over and plates rattling. Greg moaned as Mycroft's warm hands rubbed up and down his back before ghosting over his arse.

Greg hissed in pain. His cheeks were throbbing, no doubt bright red, and he heard Mycroft moan softly under his breath. There was the soft sound of material being brushed, followed by a cap popping open, and Greg tensed, waiting.

'You know that sound, don't you?' Mycroft commented. He was standing directly behind Greg, eyes roaming over the older man's glowing arse. He had so many delicious lines marking his pale skin and Mycroft wanted to run his tongue along them. He made sure his right fingers were slicked before pushing the bottle of lube back into his pocket.

Greg still hadn't answered and Mycroft slapped him suddenly, the DI jolting hard against the table as fresh pain throbbed through his arse.

'I asked you a question,' Mycroft growled.

'Y-Yes, I know that sound,' Greg said.

'What is it?'

'A... a bottle of lubricant,' Greg answered, 'b-being opened.'

'Why do you know that sound?' Mycroft asked. He spoke again before Greg could answer. 'Is it because you're a whore?' he said, tracing the lines on Greg's arse with his index finger. 'Is it because you're so used to being fucked that you know the sounds? The sound of fingers being pushed into your tight arse-' Greg moaned, '- the sound of gel being rubbed along a thick cock? The sound of a man thrusting into you so fast that your muscles burn in protest?'

'M-Mycroft,' Greg whimpered. He felt like his cock was going to explode. The lust in his gut was at an all-time high, making his skin burn and sweat trickle down his face.

'What was that?' Mycroft said.

'P-Please,' Greg said. 'I w-want you to fuck me.'

'Why?'

'B-Because I need it,' Greg said. 'I'm a... a cock slut, a whore, I need... need a thick cock up my... my arse.'

Mycroft chuckled and traced another crop mark, Greg moaning and burying his face in his arms. 'Do you?'

'Ye- _ahh_!' Greg nearly swallowed his tongue when two of Mycroft's lean fingers thrust into his hole. 'Oh fuck,' he growled, thrusting his arse back, making Mycroft's fingers bury deeper into him.

  
  


_Text to: Martha Hudson_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_Don't count on it :)_

  
  


'Such a wanton little whore,' Mycroft commented. 'You like this, don't you?' he said as he thrust his fingers in and out, watching his digits as they were swallowed by his boyfriend's entrance. 'You like feeling full, feeling my fingers fuck you.'

Greg groaned. Mycroft was talking dirty... his fingers were in there... he'd cropped him... Greg would be lucky to hold out five minutes.

'Respected DI Lestrade, taking it like a fucking slut,' Mycroft hissed, jamming his fingers in and stabbing Greg's prostate.

'FUCK!' Greg shouted, shaking violently. He moaned when Mycroft pulled his fingers out.

The politician fought with his belt and trousers, quickly dropping them and his underwear around his ankles. He slicked his cock up, which had been hard since he'd first cropped Greg. The DI had _no_ idea how hard Mycroft had had to fight to keep control of himself. Watching Greg take the pain, revel in it, _beg_ for it... it was so hard to ignore.

And he couldn't any longer. So he wasted no time in lining himself up and thrusting in smoothly, his boyfriend's muscles clenching around him, swathing him in heat, in a tight casing that had Mycroft breathing out heavily.

'Fuck, Greg,' he moaned.

Greg knew the time for playing was over, especially when Mycroft placed one hand on his hip, the other in his hair. Both hands tightened at the same time as Mycroft drew out before thrusting back in.

The force slammed Greg into the table, stomach muscles protesting at the sudden abuse. But Greg didn't care, it was all too good to care. He leaned on his forearms and elbows, body rocking back and forth as Mycroft thrust into him over and over again.

He was so big, so deliciously big, that Greg moaned and arched his back, rolled his hips to get his partner to thrust harder, faster, to make him see stars.

Mycroft ripped at his hair, forcing Greg's head back, and a hot mouth was suddenly latched onto his neck. Mycroft bit him and sucked back, tongue swirling around Greg's heated skin as he pounded into him.

  
  


_Text to: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Amy Fez_

_JOHNLOCK! JOHNLOCK, JOHNLOCK, JOHNLOCK, JOOOHNLOOOCK!_

  
  


'Is this what you want?' Mycroft hissed breathlessly, hips snapping, balls slapping into Greg's marked arse. 'You want me to fuck you, to own you?'

'Yes,' Greg choked out.

'You're mine,' Mycroft growled. 'When you try to sit down tomorrow and your arse burns, remember that I put those marks there.'

'Yes, M-Mycroft,' Greg moaned.

'Gregory,' Mycroft breathed, burying his face in Greg's neck. 'Fuck, you're so beautiful.'

Greg groaned.

'Come for me, love,' Mycroft said.

It was an order and when Mycroft's left hand wrapped around his cock, pulling sharply, Greg had no choice but to comply.

The lust and heat and need that had been building since Greg had stepped into Mycroft's car exploded throughout his body and Greg came harder then he had in weeks. He clamped down on Mycroft's impressive girth, impaling himself on the man as his back arched. Come shot across the table and dripped down Mycroft's fist, the politician pulling and stroking Greg through his orgasm.

The DI shuddered against him and Mycroft moaned, thrusting once, twice more, before he was coming too, spilling into his boyfriend and slicking his insides.

The two men shuddered against each other, each breath ripped from their bodies as a ragged pant, their skin covered in sweat and come, their hair plastered to their faces.

Mycroft was still dressed and Greg felt the soft cotton of his shirt, the silk of his tie, stick to his sweaty back.

'Fucking hell,' Greg groaned.

'You okay?' Mycroft asked.

'More then okay,' Greg breathed. 'I'm... fuck, you know just what to do.'

Mycroft chuckled and kissed his cheek. 'I didn't hurt you?'

'You did,' Greg said, 'but... mm, nice kind of hurt.'

He turned so they could kiss properly, lips hot and wet as they pressed against each other, tongues coming out to lick lazy strokes and dance together. Mycroft's right hand stroked up and down Greg's chest and stomach, soothing the aches that were already moving through Greg's body from their activities.

  
  


_Text to: Amy Fez_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_It's good to see that I'm not the only crazy person at the Yard :)_

  
  


The front door opened and Greg and Mycroft broke apart, but before they could disconnect Sherlock and John had rounded the corner.

Sherlock shouted and twirled around quickly, coat and curls both bouncing as he breathed in and out, nose wrinkled, eyes closed tight.

'Oh sorry, Sherlock, we thought you'd be out all night,' Mycroft commented cheerfully as he pulled out of his boyfriend.

Greg groaned at the loss and promptly blushed as John snickered.

'Turn around you pervert,' Greg growled at the doctor, who was grabbed by his own boyfriend.

'You people are no fun,' John said as he folded his arms and waited.

Greg and Mycroft dressed quickly, tugging on their clothes, making sure they looked presentable so they could walk outside. Mycroft patted down his hair and Greg zipped his jeans up, wincing slightly as his underwear brushed against his burning arse.

'How was dinner, Sherlock?' Mycroft asked, sliding his BlackBerry back into his pocket.

'It might be re-appearing shortly,' Sherlock growled.

'Oh, why is that?' Mycroft said conversationally.

'Why is... Mycroft, just get the hell out,' Sherlock snarled.

Mycroft smirked and grabbed the riding crop as Greg walked out ahead of him, blushing furiously when John winked at him.

'John, stop that!' Sherlock shouted.

John just chuckled and smiled at his partner.

'I'll see you Sunday at Mummy's, hmm?' Mycroft said, stopping in the doorway. He turned to face his brother and John. 'Remember that she wants to meet John.'

'Get. Out.'

'So antagonistic,' Mycroft mused before shaking his head. 'No matter, I'm used to it.' He paused before tapping Sherlock with the riding crop. 'Can I keep this?'

  
  


_Text to: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Amy Fez_

_;)_

  
  


Sherlock pushed his elder brother out roughly and slammed the door shut, glaring and cursing under his breath as he stormed towards the couch and flopped down.

John looked from the door to his boyfriend before saying, 'We need a new riding crop.'

Sherlock scowled. 'John, I'm deleting everything I just saw.'

'I'm not,' John said and smiled when Sherlock glared at him. 'What? Two hot guys cropping each other... yes please.'

'John!' Sherlock whined.

'Are you jealous?' John asked.

The consulting detective huffed and rolled over to face the back of the sofa. 'Never,' he grunted.

'Oh, you are,' John said and crossed the sitting room. He pulled his jacket off and draped it over the back of the arm chair. 'But you know what?'

'What?' Sherlock muttered.

John sat on the sofa beside him and ran a hand through the genius' messy curls. 'You look _much_ better cropping me then Mycroft and Greg ever could.'

Sherlock paused before shifting to look at his boyfriend. 'I do?' he asked.

'Oh, yes.'

There was another pause before;

'We need a new riding crop.'

John chuckled.


	20. Uniform

Despite not having worn it for over ten years, Greg's old police uniform was at the front of the walk-in-wardrobe he shared with Mycroft Holmes. The black trousers were clean and pressed, as was the white shirt, the flourescent jacket, the black clip-on tie, and the hat. There was even a heavy-duty baton that had since fallen out of use, one with scuffs that hinted at multiple use, an old pair of police-issue handcuffs, and a name tag that simply read 'G. Lestrade'.

Now, a normal person might be wondering exactly _why_ Detective Inspector Lestrade kept his old police unfirom in his wardrobe, at the front, cleaned and pressed. Any kinky person will tell you that dressing up as a police officer and handcuffing your partner is good fun.

Sherlock Holmes is one of those kinky people and he smirked as he pulled the uniform out. Clearly his brother and Gregory had an interesting sex life, even before the whole sex war started between the two brothers. Neither man looked the type to be involved in kinky sex, but Sherlock knew for a fact that it was the quiet, normal looking ones that were usually the weirdest.

Take his brother; good job, pristine clothes, groomed to perfection. Yet he clearly loved power, got off on dominating others, and sometimes submitting to the right person. He had a fetish for handcuffs that could be seen whenever the cuffs of his expensive shirts rode up, revealing pink, purple and red marks, sometimes the occasional deep gash from straining against his bonds. It seemed obvious that he would pick a police officer as his partner in life; a strong, dominating man, who didn't mind giving up control, and had easy access to handcuffs.

Then there was Gregory Lestrade, Sherlock's colleague and, yes, friend; down-to-earth, no-nonsense, clothes thrown on haphazardly, always a bit tired, a bit grumpy, smoked too much and drank way too much coffee. He loved anything that was even close to breaking the law; public sex, kinky sex, sex where some type of restraint was used and dirty language that grabbed his usually impressive Detective Inspector title and tossed it away, making Greg little more than a filthy whore.

Mycroft and Greg were perfect for each other and it seemed they both enjoyed it when Greg dressed up in his old bobby uniform.

Sherlock was pleased to note that it was clean. He knew far too much about his brother's sex life and any actual evidence of it made him want to vomit. He looked the uniform over carefully before folding it up and tucking it away in the backpack he'd brought.

He placed the empty coat-hangers back in the wardrobe, moved the clothes either side out of the way so Mycroft would realise the uniform was missing immediately, and left before Anthea could tell her boss that Sherlock had yet again broken into his flat.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text From: Katherine Sexyjeans_

_To: Mike Dimmock_

_Put me down as Mystrade, this thing is HILARIOUS!_

  
  


'HELL NO!'

Greg groaned. Mycroft only said 'hell no' when Sherlock had _really_ pissed him off. He sipped his tea before placing the mug on the coffee table and standing to climb the stairs.

They were packing for the weekend trip to Holmes Manor, to stay with Mummy Holmes in particular... well, _Mycroft_ was packing; he'd kicked Greg out of the bedroom half-an-hour earlier because trying to pack leather pants, various sex toys, and their newly aquired riding crop wasn't "being productive" in Mycroft Holmes' book.

Greg _really_ wanted to fuck Mycroft in the politician's childhood bedroom but would have to resort to using his body to drive his partner insane with lust... Greg was looking forward to it.

It was quite a trip to the bedroom from the main sitting room and Mycroft was in a deep state of fury when Greg finally arrived.

'What is it, love?' the DI asked as Mycroft stormed back into the wardrobe.

'HE TOOK IT!'

Greg blinked. 'Who took what?'

'Sherlock, _Sherlock_ took your uniform!' Mycroft seethed.

Greg followed him into the wardrobe and-

'THAT FUCKING BASTARD!' Greg shouted.

His old bobby uniform was gone, the uniform that Greg had worn for years while chasing criminals... the uniform that he'd worn quite often as he handcuffed Mycroft Holmes to the headboard, the towel rack, the stove (not so fun when it breaks but the sex had been good).

'Oh no, that is just _too_ far,' Greg growled. 'That uniform is... it's...'

Mycroft was already texting, face red, teeth gritted together.

Greg pulled out his own phone and sent two texts off quickly before throwing the thing on their large bed.

'That fucking wanker,' Greg scowled. 'I swear to God I'll kill him.'

'Not if I get to him first,' Mycroft growled.

  
  


_Text To: Katherin Sexyjeans_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_No worries, I'll text Sally. Oh, and is there a reason you're programmed into my phone as "Katherine Sexyjeans"?_

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Sherlock's phone beeped twice, followed by John's own ringtone going off. The doctor groaned and set his folded jumpers aside as he shifted forward to grab his mobile.

'Sherlock, what did you do?' he asked as he unlocked his phone.

Sherlock was supposed to be packing. And by that it meant _John_ was supposed to be packing for the both of them, because of course Sherlock wouldn't pack for himself. He'd be quite happy to trapse around Holmes Manor in a bedsheet, but John was already nervous enough about meeting Mummy, he didn't want to have a constant hard-on because his boyfriend was strutting about naked.

'Nothing,' Sherlock said, though his smirk was far from innocent.

John sighed and looked down at his mobile;

  
  


_YOUR BOYFRIEND IS DEAD! DO YOU HEAR ME? DEAD! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON HIM I WILL BLOODY MURDER HIM!_

  
  


That one was from Greg and John frowned, wondering just what Sherlock had done to set off the usually good-natured DI. He flicked to the next text;

  
  


**The surveillance on you and Sherlock will be paramount if you partake in anything to do with Gregory's uniform. Do not anger me, Doctor Watson - MH**

  
  


John was really confused now and said, 'Sherlock, what did you do? What uniform?'

Sherlock chuckled and reached for his own phone. He was laying sprawled across their bed, enjoying the gentle buzz that was his brain (the only way John could get Sherlock out of the way long enough to pack was to suck the man off). He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and lazily swiping his thumb across the screen to unlock it. He glanced down as he opened the first message;

  
  


_DEAD! YOU ARE DEAD! I WILL STRANGLE YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS, SHERLOCK HOLMES!_

  
  


'It seems Lestrade wants to switch careers,' Sherlock mused.

'And what's he want to be?' John asked, pushing three of Sherlock's expensive shirts into the genius' case.

'A criminal,' Sherlock smiled, reading the next text;

  
  


**Poor Mummy. She'll be ever so upset when I inform her that I'm an only child - M**

  
  


'Hmm, he _is_ angry,' Sherlock said. 'Serves him right for destroying my coat, your sweater, your laptop-'

'Sherlock, what's going on?' John cut in, pointing at his own mobile. 'Why does Greg wanna kill you and why is Mycroft threatening to stalk us even more?'

'Oh, I took Lestrade's uniform,' Sherlock hummed.

John blinked, pausing from packing. 'Uniform?'

'Mm,' Sherlock nodded lazily, arms threading behind his head, 'the one he wore when he was younger, you know, before becoming a DI.'

'Right... and they want you dead because of that?'

'No, because of what I'm going to _do_ with it,' Sherlock grinned.

John groaned and leaned heavily against the desk where their open cases sat. 'Sherlock, they sound _really_ upset.'

'Good.'

'No, not good,' John corrected. 'Are you getting that Greg is your access to Scotland Yard, to murder cases?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'He won't cut me off.'

'You also seem to be forgetting who your brother is.'

'I know who he is.'

'No, I don't think you do.'

'John-'

' _The_ British Government,' John butted in. 'The Ice Man, the man with the ability to open doors of top security government buildings with his name, your older brother who knows every embarrassing story about you, _the_ Mycroft Holmes, _the_ most dangerous man you'll ever meet.'

Sherlock stared at him.

'Sherlock, this war is fun and all, but really, I've grown quite attached to you. It'd be a pity if you went and got killed by your own brother after surviving Moriarty.'

'Mycroft won't kill me.'

'I dunno,' John said and glanced back down at the message. How was it that Mycroft could sound polite yet threatening in a text?

'Relax, John,' Sherlock smiled, pressing his fingers together beneath his chin. 'Everything will be fine.'

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Katherin Sexyjeans_

_'Cause I look sexy in jeans ;)_

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


John was seriously crapping himself when he entered Holmes Manor for two different reasons;

1) Mycroft's expensive Italian car was sitting parked on the long pebbled drive, meaning the politician (who had clearly threatened John a day earlier) was already there with his equally pissed off boyfriend.

2) Mummy Holmes was somwhere in the large, intimidating Manor, just waiting to judge and read John like all Holmeses did.

The foyer was all dark wood and polished floors, the fireplaces marble, the picture-frames gold, and the bloody chandeler glinting brightly in the late morning sun that streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows.

John swallowed thickly as Sherlock strolled through the room like he owned the place (John guessed he kind of did). He led John to a set of large wooden double doors that he pushed open quickly.

The voices inside immediately stopped and John heard, 'Sherly, darling!' before the genius was swept into a hug.

John walked into the room and spotted Mycroft and Greg sitting on an expensive looking sofa to his right. Greg's nervous look broke into a sigh of relief, and he smiled weakly at the doctor. Mycroft looked at home holding a china cup delicately, steam rising from the dark liquid, and his handsome face was set coolly as he looked at John.

_Oh yeah, he's still mad,_ John thought as he tore his eyes away from the politician's steely gaze to look at Mummy Holmes.

She was about John's height, with thick grey hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing an expensive but simple summer dress that hugged her thin frame. She patted Sherlock's curls, the sociopath scowling, before turning to John.

'And who is this handsome man?' the woman asked, piercing blue eyes sweeping over him.

'Mummy, this is John Watson, my boyfriend,' Sherlock said, turning to the doctor. 'John, this is my mother, Meghan Holmes.'

'Ma'am,' John smiled as he shook her hand, the woman's grip surprisingly strong.

'An army doctor, hmm?' Mrs Holmes mused, eyes once more sweeping over John. 'And what is it you do at the moment, John?'

'I work at a small surgery,' John answered.

'Oh,' Meghan said, clicking her tongue. 'Surely you could do something a lot more interesting, hmm?'

John blinked. 'It... it _is_ interesting.'

Sherlock sighed as his mother said, 'Oh, I'm sure it is, in it's own quaint way.' She paused and smiled at him, that same fake-polite smile that Mycroft Holmes had perfected. 'Perhaps the hustle and bustle of a real hospital is too much, hmm?'

_Okay, I know where Mycroft gets it from_ , John thought as Meghan turned her back on him, tugging Sherlock into the sitting room. Greg was smiling happily as Meghan's attention was turned on Sherlock, while Mycroft grinned evilly at John, who sat beside his boyfriend.

'So, John,' Meghan said, the soldier looking at her. 'Why is it that you chase criminals with Sherlock? Danger junkie, are you?'

_The world hates me_ , John groaned inwardly.

  
  


_Text To: Martha Hudson_

_From: Jennifer Matters_

_Martha, I heard about the pool going around with that lodger you have; Sherlock Holmes? Anyway, May was telling me about it, and I want in. There's nothing good on TV anymore. Put me down as Johnlock :)_

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mrs Holmes was smart. She was sophisticated, rich, a well-educated woman. She had the ability to make you feel two-feet tall while sound charming and sincere. She fake smiled, fake laughed, faked everything except how much she adored Mycroft and Sherlock.

And how much she disapproved of Greg and John.

The entire weekend was going horribly, not that anyone voiced it (at least not while out of the comfort of their private rooms). Mummy was as sly as Mycroft and having two Holmeses who could smile at you like they were planning your execution was getting on John's nerves.

Greg was just as worn-out as John but Mycroft and Sherlock took it all in their strides; Sherlock by ignoring most of what his mother said, and Mycroft by skillfully directing his mother's attention away from Greg (never from John, he liked to watch the younger man squirm).

By Sunday night John wanted to steal Mycroft's car and leave, and he would have if he thought he had any hope of sneaking away from three Holmeses and stealing the British Government's car.

Instead he flopped onto the bed he was sharing with Sherlock and groaned.

'John, relax,' Sherlock said, shutting and locking the bedroom door before disappearing into the ridiculously large walk-in-wardrobe.

'Your mother is insane!' John scowled. 'She's... she's...'

'A female version of Mycroft?' Sherlock's voice called.

'Exactly!' John exclaimed. 'Except without a DI to ground her and make her shut her bloody mouth.'

'John, that's my mother.'

'Like you don't think the same thing,' John grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Sherlock chuckled as John stretched across the bed, kicking his shoes off and yawning. He was so bloody tired. Staying in a house with three Holmeses, two of whom really didn't like you, was harder then fighting in Afghanistan. John would definitely be avoiding Christmas dinners in the future.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Unknown Number_

_Do keep me updated on this little pool you have going; Mystrade and Johnlock, isn't it?_

  
  


Sally Donovan frowned at her mobile and set her coffee cup aside. It was the early evening and she was standing in the break room of Scotland Yard trying not to escape out the window.

Lestrade was on a four-day leave to do something or other (Sally suspected it had something to do with his boyfriend), Molly was out with a cold, Dimmock had got himself stuck in hospital with a stab wound to the thigh, and Anderson was at home bitching with his wife again. So Sally was effectively alone, stuck doing boring paperwork, with no one to goof around with.

And now her phone was buzzing with texts from unknown numbers.

She sipped her coffee as she headed back to her small desk, which was situated about three feet from Lestrade's office. She sat down, pushed some paperwork aside, and texted back.

  
  


_Text To: Unknown Number_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_Erm... who is this?_

  
  


Sally didn't know if the text would go through, but she'd had enough experience with Mycroft Holmes to know that her texts were _always_ monitored. So she set her phone aside, flicked on her computer screen, and got back to her paperwork.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


'What are you doing?' John said. He could hear rustling and cursing from the walk-in-wardrobe, which Sherlock had disappeared into ten minutes earlier. There was no answer and he sat up on the bed. 'Sherlock?'

Suddenly Sherlock stepped back into the room and John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He was wearing a police uniform, one that clearly didn't fit him. While the white shirt and black trousers were baggy, they were clearly made for a shorter person. Sherlock had a baton in his long fingers as well as a pair of handcuffs, and there was a laminated name-tag attached to his shirt that read-

'Sergeant Holmes?' John questioned. 'Wait, is _this_ what Mycroft and Greg were so pissed off about?'

Sherlock chuckled and smoothed down the black clip-on tie he was wearing. 'Yes. It's my understanding that Lestrade dresses up like this a lot. It seems my brother likes kinky sex.'

'Urgh, don't say that,' John grimaced.

'I thought you were attracted to Mycroft?'

'Well, he's handsome, in his own way,' John admitted, 'and Greg is too, but Mycroft's your _brother_ , so... you know, it's a bit not good.'

Sherlock chuckled again and ran his long, thing fingers along the baton, John's eyes immediately dropping to it. 'I'd like to play a game, Mr Watson.'

'Really?'

'No,' Sherlock tisked, 'that's, “yes I would also like to play a game, _sir”_.'

'Is it?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John swallowed thickly. 'Erm... I'd like to play a game, sir.'

Sherlock smiled and that was when all the blood started to rush to John's cock. He gulped again as Sherlock slowly walked over to the bed, fingers continuing to lazily stroke the baton.

'I think you like breaking the law, Mr Watson,' Sherlock said. 'And I, as a fine officer of the law, have to stop you.'

'Y-Yes, sir,' John stuttered.

Sherlock smirked and tapped the bedside table with the baton. 'Stand up, hands on the table, legs spread, _now_.'

John was quick to comply, already half-hard as he did as asked. He leaned against the table, back to Sherlock, and heard his boyfriend walk behind him. The baton was placed between his legs and Sherlock made him move them further apart. When he was satisfied, the genius rubbed the end of the baton along John's arse, the doctor gasping.

'What was that?'

'Nothing, sir,' John said quickly.

'Mm, that's what I thought,' Sherlock said. 'You young people have _no_ respect for the law.' John wanted to point out that Sherlock was five years younger than him but didn't think that would be in the spirit of the game. So he kept his mouth shut as Sherlock continued to poke him. 'I need to teach you a lesson,' Sherlock said.

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_Text From: Unknown Number_

_Now, now, my name isn't important, deary. Just keep me up to date on this little feud that's going on between Sherlock and Mycroft._

  
  


Suddenly Sherlock rapped the baton against John's arse and the doctor yelped, quickly blushing when Sherlock chuckled. 'All you bastards are alike,' Sherlock mused as he pushed the end up and down John's arse. 'You act tough but when faced with real pain you turn into whiney little bitches.'

John shivered, Sherlock's words going straight to his cock, and wet his lips before saying, 'I can take it, Sergeant Holmes.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Oh really?'

John nodded, staring hard at the wall opposite him. 'I can take whatever you dish out, sir.'

'Hmm,' Sherlock mused, the baton stilling on John's denim-clad arse. 'Safe word?'

'Mycroft,' John smirked.

Sherlock shook his head and said, 'Very well.' He rubbed the baton up and down John's arse again before saying, 'How many strikes do you think you deserve, Mr Watson?'

'Erm... how ever many you think I deserve for my behaviour, Sergeant Holmes.'

Sherlock grinned. 'Excellent. I think ten, and I want you to count them.'

John nodded and braced himself, though relaxed his body at the same time. The baton wasn't wide enough to cause a proper sting, but he knew he'd still bruise depending on how hard and at what angle Sherlock hurt him. So he breathed in and out deeply.

'Ready?' Sherlock asked. He received another nod and drew the baton back. He hit John across his right cheek, only hard enough for him to feel it. He didn't want to hurt John, at least not too badly.

'One,' John said, not sounding fazed in the slightest.

Sherlock smirked and smacked him again, this time on the other cheek.

'Two,' the doctor counted. 'Three,' he said when Sherlock hit him again, and it was quickly followed by a, 'Four.'

When John had counted off five, Sherlock paused, one arm snaking around John's waist. He grappled with John's belt and managed to get it undone, the button and zip of his jeans following. He used both hands to yank the shorter man's jeans and underwear down, exposing his arse to the silent room.

'Hmm, much better,' Sherlock said. He licked his lips as a hand ghosted over John's rear, making the doctor shiver slightly. 'Count,' Sherlock ordered and smacked the baton across both of John's cheeks.

There was definitely a sting this time and John jolted, though got out, 'S-Six.'

Sherlock smirked and whacked him again.

'Nngh,' John groaned, the soft sting spreading through his arse and making his already twitching cock grow thicker. 'Seven.'

Sherlock hit him slightly harder, half the baton hitting his arse with a loud _slap_.

' _Ah_ \- e-eight,' John choked out.

Sherlock smiled and hit him harder.

' _Nine_ ,' John hissed. Sherlock drew back his arm one last time and John moaned loudly, 'Fuck, ten!'

The consulting detective rubbed the end of the baton along John's redding cheeks before sliding it between, rubbing his entrance and making John twitch. 'Very good, Mr Watson.'

'Thank you, sir,' John breathed.

Sherlock rubbed John a bit more before throwing the baton aside. He got to his knees and felt John tense as he rubbed the doctor's red cheeks. 'Hmm, you have a gorgeous arse, has anyone ever told you that?'

'Yes, sir,' John said from above him. 'Quite a number of people, actually.'

The genius chuckled and his tongue darted out to taste the heated flesh, John shifting a bit. 'Did I say you could move?'

'Sorry, sir,' John apologised quickly. He couldn't hold back a moan when Sherlock's tongue slid between his cheeks, lightly brushing over his puckered entrance. Sherlock didn't seem to mind and John moaned against as that skillful tongue licked again and again before thrusting in, the tip penetrating him and making arousal climb through John's body like it was trying to escape.

'You're very responsive,' Sherlock commented, warm breath blowing across John's arse softly.

'W-Well you're very good, sir,' John mumbled, head hanging as he focused on the slight sting in his arse and the warm wetness of Sherlock's tongue.

'Oh, I know,' Sherlock smirked cockily. He went back to his task and soon had John whimpering and keening, the doctor trying hard not to thrust back into his boyfriend's face. He was fast losing control of himself, but had a strong enough will to keep himself in place as Sherlock rimmed him.

'O-Oh, fuck that feels good,' John moaned. 'Sir,' he added hastily when Sherlock stopped.

'Hmm, I fear you're enjoying this too much,' Sherlock said and stepped back.

'No!' John groaned, close to whining. 'I'm not enjoying it, not at all, sir.'

Sherlock snorted and slapped John on the arse, making the older man yelp. 'Get undressed, right now, and lay on the bed, on your back,' he ordered.

John was quick to comply and shed his clothes before jumping on the bed, gorgeous body splayed out across the mattress, head resting on the pillows. Sherlock took a moment to appreciate his boyfriend's amazing body before he pulled the police-issue handcuffs from his belt.

John paled slightly as Sherlock climbed onto the bed, straddling his lap and grabbing John's hands. He placed them against the headboard and looked down when John cleared his throat.

'Sherlock, you have the key this time, right?' he asked, looking worried.

Sherlock smiled and leaned down to kiss him softly. 'Yes, John, right here.' He plucked the key from his pocket and placed it on the bedside table where John could see it.

'Good,' the older man said, breathing a sigh of relief. 'Well, carry on, Sergeant.'

Sherlock smirked, making quick work of securing his boyfriend's hands to the headboard. John pulled slightly on the cold stainless steel, finding that he didn't have much room to move. Sherlock looked John over with an appreciative eye before sliding down to sit on his lap. He slowly pulled at the belt keeping his trousers up, the buttons of the fly popping open, and John watched as Sherlock's long, thick prick was pulled out.

It was alread swollen, the head a deep red, with pre-come oozing out the slit. It seemed Sherlock had got off on whacking John more than he'd let on. Sherlock stroked himself slowly from root to tip, licking his lips and settling his lust-darkened eyes on John.

John was just staring and trying to ignore the ache in his crotch. His erection was pressing against Sherlock's clothed arse and it was all he could do not to thrust up. Sherlock smiled knowingly as he got himself off. While John loved being dominated, it was sitting by and doing nothing at all that really frustrated and turned him on.

He began biting his lip and whimpering slightly, his cock straining and leaking heavily against Sherlock's arse. The genius moaned and tipped his head back, dark curls bouncing around his pale forehead as he swiped a thumb over the head of his cock.

'This feels so good, Mr Watson,' Sherlock commented softly, shifting forward slightly and rubbing himself against John's erection. The doctor whimpered as Sherlock continued, 'No one can know your cock better then you yourself, don't you agree?'

'Um... yes?' John tried, teeth digging into his lip. Fuck, if Sherlock didn't let John do _something_ he was going to explode.

'You don't sound too sure of yourself,' Sherlock commented.

'Um...' John mumbled again, eyes roaming over Sherlock's exposed shaft.

Suddenly Sherlock scrambled up and John yelped as the tall man sat heavily on his chest. 'Why don't you prove me wrong, then?' Sherlock hissed. He grabbed John by the back of the head, his free hand curling around his cock, and John barely had time to take a breath before Sherlock was thrusting into his mouth.

After doing nothing for what felt like hours (but was probably only ten minutes), John groaned in relief. He sucked back greedily, most of Sherlock's cock sinking into his warm, wet mouth. Sherlock moaned as he pulled back, fingers tightening in John's hair and yanking painfully. John's tongue licked along the large vein on the side of Sherlock's shaft before flicking over the head, lapping away pre-come and swallowing it quickly.

Sherlock hissed as he slid back in, giving John a few seconds to adjust before he set up a fast, furious rhythm.

John couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had dominated him like this, or fucked his face, and savoured each and every thrust. Having his mouth used in such a dirty way made his brain go fuzzy and his body feel entirely too hot.

Sherlock knew just what buttons to push and soon John lost himself in the sensation of Sherlock fucking his face; cock sliding against his tongue, pre-come dribbling over his tastebuds, Sherlock moaning evey time he thrust all the way in, his balls slapping against John's chin.

The knowledge that they were doing this in Sherlock's mother's house, and in Sherlock's childhood bedroom, wasn't lost on either of them and just seemed to make the two men that more turned on, so much so that soon Sherlock was pulling out and plundering John's mouth. His tongue thrust in hard, stroking against John's and causing the doctor to groan wantonly.

'I used to sit in this bed and wank, John, just to see what it felt like,' Sherlock hissed.

'Oh God,' John moaned as Sherlock nipped and licked his jaw.

'I'd sit right here, in this bed, and fuck my own fist while crying out in pleasure,' Sherlock continued. 'Can you imagine it, John? Sixteen-year-old Sherlock Holmes coming all over the sheets like a dirty little boy?'

'Fuck, Sherlock,' John whimpered.

Sherlock smirked and licked John's ear. 'I imagined so many gorgeous men, John,' he hissed. 'So many men, my cock sinking into their tight arses, them moaning wantonly as I took them hard and fast-'

John couldn't help himeslf and thrust up, rubbing his erection against Sherlock's still covered arse. He whimpered loudly as Sherlock's teeth pulled at his earlobe.

'Fuck, John, I can't wait,' Sherlock panted, sliding down John's body quickly.

'Don't wait, sir,' John begged. 'Please, fuck me, I need a good pounding.'

Sherlock moaned and scrambled over to the bedside table, making sure not to send the handcuff key flying as he ripped open the top drawer. He pulled out a full bottle of lubricant and quickly slicked his fingers up, dribbling more than a bit of the gel onto the pristine sheets.

The genius wasted no time in burying two of his fingers in John's gloriously tight arse, his older partner moaning and spreading his legs further. He lifted his arse off the bed as Sherlock finger-fucked him, quickly stabbing at his prostate and making John moan a litany of filthy words.

Sherlock didn't want to prepare John too much and pulled out a few minutes later, slicking his cock up in the same movement. He tossed the bottle of lube aside and climbed between John's legs, draping them over his shoulders as he lined himself up.

He pushed in in one slick, wet thrust, John crying out as his muscles were stretched wide. His arms strained as he pulled against the handcuffs, head tipped back against the pillows and teeth digging into his lower lip.

John was so fucking tight and warm that Sherlock momentarily forgot that they were role playing. He remembered when John grunted, 'Sir, please!'

Sherlock smirked as he peeled his eyes open, looking down to see a flushed and slightly sweaty John blinking up at him with darkened blue eyes.

'You need a fine, upstanding officer of the law to fuck you like a cheap whore, don't you?'

John groaned and nodded. 'Please, Sergeant Holmes, fuck me hard.'

'Oh, I plan to,' Sherlock said before drawing out. He slammed back in, balls stinging as they slapped wetly against John's cheeks. The doctor grunted before moaning, legs bent to his chest by Sherlock's shoulders.

The consulting detective had to shift about a bit to penetrate John as hard as he could; the doctor was still amazingly tight and it was an effort for Sherlock to push his engorged cock past John's tight ring of muscles.

John wasn't complaining, though. Rather he was pulling wildly at the handcuffs and rolling his hips, trying to get Sherlock deeper into him. Sherlock squeezed John's hips as he set up a steady, hard rhythm, John crying out below him every time Sherlock grazed his prostate.

It was hot and wet and glorious and hard. John writhed about on the bed as Sherlock sank into him over and over again, the room filled with the harsh _slap-slap-slap_ of flesh on flesh, as well as the headboard occasionaly slamming into the wall with each of Sherlock's more brutal thrusts.

John hadn't felt this debauched in months and savoured every second, feeling Sherlock' thick prick filling him over and over again. His entire body felt too hot, and pleasure was building in his gut and radiating out to every single inch of his body. Sherlock's fingers dug painfully into his red arse or his hips, sure to leave bruises, and John knew his wrists would be aching for days.

But he didn't care, he just needed more; more fucking, more touching, more Sherlock, more everything!

Sherlock moved closer, almost bending John in two, and the doctor found his knees pressed to his chest, ankles near Sherlock's ears, as the genius angled himself to hit John's prostate on every thrust.

John wanted to wrap his arms around Sherlock and claw at his back, dig his nails deep into the soft, pale skin and draw blood- but the handcuffs kept him securely in place, and with Sherlock pressing him into the mattress John could barely move. That all added to the pleasure, though; knowing that he was being used merely as a sex toy for his boyfriend was fast getting John off.

John cried out over and over again, whimpering when Sherlock hissed filthy words in his ear; 'Look at you, such a cock slut, begging me to ram my dick into your tight hole; you're such a filthy little boy, aren't you; fuck, you feel amazing; oh fuck, John, yes! Just like that, John.'

He knew Sherlock was close when the genius started calling him John, even more so when Sherlock's long fingers wrapping around his aching prick.

'Fuck, Sherlock!' John shouted as his cock was pulled in time with Sherlock's now furious hips. Everything felt so fucking good, and Sherlock's lips were suddenly hard against his, their breathy groans and laboured breathing being shared as Sherlock fucked John into the mattress. 'Ah, I'm so close!' John called suddenly, words swallowed by Sherlock's mouth. 'Fuck, Sherlock, just there- yes, yes, _yes_!'

He continued to chant as his balls tightened, his muscles burning as he crashed towards an orgasm.

'Fucking come,' Sherlock ordered, 'come, you greedy little prick.'

John moaned.

'Come with my cock jammed in your tight hole!'

John erupted suddenly, crying out as he was overcome with a fierce orgasm, thick ropes of come splattering against his sweaty chest and stomach, the occasional spurt leaking down Sherlock's fisted hand. His muscles tightened immediately and Sherlock jammed himself back in one last time before he was coming too, cock twitching as it emptied into John's exhausted body.

Sherlock moaned as he withdrew and fell onto the mattress heavily, body aching and skin feeling overheated, especially with all his clothes on. John was stuck in place, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes squeezed shut.

Sherlock was close to falling asleep when John moaned, 'Can you uncuff me?'

The genius chuckled and groped for the key, quickly getting his boyfriend undone. John hissed as he rubbed his chaffed wrists and Sherlock pressed soft kisses to the inflamed skin before getting undressed. He used Greg's uniform to clean them up and John giggled as Sherlock threw the soiled trousres aside.

'Mycroft is _so_ going to kill you,' John commented.

'Mm,' Sherlock grunted, wrapping his long body around John's smaller one. 'I'll worry about that when I don't feel so fucking good.'

John smiled and kissed his boyfriend softly.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Meghan Holmes added a slight drizzle of lemon to her tea before stirring it, placing the small silver spoon to the side. She sipped the warm liquid before sighing in satisfaction.

Her two boys were in their rooms, no doubt doing things Meghan never wanted to know about. Though she'd given them a hard time over the past few days, Meghan quite liked John and Gregory; they were good men with respectable jobs, and they knew how to handle the Holmes boys. Meghan couldn't have picked better spouses herself.

Of course, she was _still_ going to act like she disliked them; she had to have her fun, after all.

The small black mobile phone that was sitting on the coffee table- a gift from Mycroft- lit up and let off a musical chime. Meghan sipped her tea again before picking it up, long fingers quickly having it open to the newly received text message;

  
  


_Text To: Unknown Number_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_Okay, strange person. Is there a particular team you want to bet on?_

  
  


Meghan smiled before quickly sending off a reply;

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Unknown Number_

_Oh no, dear, I just want to know what's happening in the pool, betting isn't for me. Happy hunting._

  
  


Meghan placed her mobile phone on the wooden coffee table and picked up her tea cup. She blew across the top before sipping the warm liquid and settling back.

She _did_ like to keep tabs on her boys.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Kami MacFarlane_

_Hi, I got your number from Molly Hooper. I read about the Mycroft/Johnlock pool thingy on John Watson's blog. Can I be put down as Johnlock? Thank you- Kami MacFarlane_

  
  


Sherlock and John were putting their stuff into a taxi, the cabbie sitting behind the wheel and yawning. Greg dumped his luggage into the boot of Mycroft's car and paused when he saw a box that hadn't been there before.

Frowning, Greg pulled the lid off-

\- and swore loudly. He looked up to see Sherlock dragging John into the taxi, the doors slamming shut and the consulting detective grinning from the back. He waved to Greg before the taxi shot off down the pebbled drive.

'Gregory?' Mycroft asked, coming towards the DI with his dry-cleaners bag.

'Those fucking arseholes,' Greg said and gestured at the box.

Mycroft frowned and stopped beide Greg, looking down into the boot.

Sitting in a large black box was Greg's rumpled police uniform. A laminated badge with "Sgt Holmes" had been pinned to the front, along with Greg's old badge.

He growled and cussed, throwing his bags atop the box and slamming the boot shut. He stormed around the car but was stopped when Greg grabbed him.

'What?' the politician scowled.

'Mycroft, I'm driving.'

'Why?'

Greg rolled his eyes. 'You'll drive into a tree the way you are, or possibly speed to catch up the cab and run Sherlock off the road.'

Mycroft smirked at the imagery and Greg smiled.

'Give me the keys,' he said and held his hand out. Mycroft stared at him for a moment before groaning and handing the car keys over.

'Fine,' he huffed and flounced around to the passenger seat, ripping the door open flopping onto the seat like a child throwing a tantrum.

His boyfriend's behaviour was enough to make Greg's own anger simmer down. Sherlock and John would _definitely_ pay for stealing and doing... doing _that_ , with his uniform, but there was no point in storming about over it and having a heart attack.

So Greg drove while his boyfriend sat in the passenger's seat, plotting his revenge.


	21. Fatigues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** The "Ooh, Chicken Salad" parts are from the lovely **Sunshine Through The Storm**

Mycroft was still furious. Greg was too. Yes, he'd cleaned his old bobby uniform, and it was as good as new... but still, Mycroft couldn't get the image of Sherlock and John doing _stuff_ with it out of hishead. It was slightly easier for Greg because he wasn't related to Sherlock or John, but he was still annoyed that the younger Holmes had stolen his uniform.

He knew Mycroft was plotting revenge; his boyfriend wouldn't let something like this go unpunished. Greg himself was at a loss as to how he could make Sherlock pay. They'd already used the man's coat, as well as his purple shirt, and one of John's better jumpers... what was left?

Greg spent a week trying to figure something out, and it didn't help that he'd had to call Sherlock twice, the consulting detective grinning stupidly as he flounced around. Sally and Dimmock- who was back at the Yard but stuck behind his desk- demanded to know what had happened.

After hearing how many people were in the pool Greg relented and filled the other two officers in on what had happened. Sally cackled at the uniform thing and Dimmock patted Greg's back, saying he and Mycroft would get the other couple back.

'When's this thing gonna end?' Sally demanded. 'I wanna collect my winnings.'

'You gotta split that with the rest of us Mystraders,' Dimmock reminded her.

'We'll win, Dimmo, mark my words,' Sally said. 'We're winning and those mother fucking Johnlockers are going down.' She leapt to her feet and turned to the other officers dotted around the room. 'Here that? Johnlockers. Going. _Down_.'

She received boos and hisses from the Johnlock supporters throughout the room, but there were claps and cheers from the Mystraders. Though Greg was slightly embarrassed at the amount of people who'd taken an interest in his sex life, it was nice to see so many people who were rooting for him and Mycroft to... well, root.

He shook his head and headed back to his office, wondering if Mycroft had thought of anything.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


'I'll be a minute, Artemis,' Mycroft said as he stepped out of the car.

Artemis- or Anthea as John and Greg knew her- nodded and slid over the backseat to shut the door as her boss ascended the stairs to 221. He knocked and Mrs Hudson answered, the woman raising both eyebrows.

'Mycroft, hello, dear.'

'Mrs Hudson,' Mycroft smiled politely. 'May I come in?'

'Sherlock and John aren't here,' Mrs Hudson said, though stepped back to let the politician in. 'John's at the surgery and Sherlock's down at the hospital doing God knows what.'

Mycroft nodded as the woman shut the door, turning to face him. 'Yes, well I... ah, left something in 221B, and need to retrieve it.'

He knew the landlady didn't believe him, but she smiled none the less and said, 'Be good, dear.'

Mycroft thanked her and quickly walked upstairs, using his umbrella to push the already open door all the way in. He stepped into the flat and looked around, seeing the usual destruction that Sherlock left in his wake.

There was nothing in the sitting room or kitchen Mycroft and Gregory could use, so the politician headed to the bathroom. Again, there was nothing, and he stepped into the room Sherlock and John now shared.

It was extremely clean, even with Sherlock Holmes as one of the inhabitants. There was a large framed poster of the periodtic table on one wall, a framed poster of one of the earlier Doctors from Doctor Who on the other wall, with a black and white picture of a hospital Mycroft wasn't familiar with beside that.

There was a queen-sized bed covered in fresh blue sheets and a beadspread the same colour, a bedside table either side with a lamp each. On John's side were a few novels and magazines, while Sherlock's had a variety of lubricants.

Mycroft smirked and went to inspect them, finding one that was strawberry-flavoured. Pocketing that for later, Mycroft continued his search. The dresser was filled with underwear, socks, and pyjamas, and Sherlock's favourite dressing gown was hanging on the back of the door.

Filing the dressing gown away for possible use, Mycroft pulled the large wardrobe open. Sherlock's various suits and shirts were all on the right, his polished leather shoes beneath with belts and other odds and ends, while John's clothes were on the left. Mycroft knew that the only reason the bedroom was clean was because of John; being in the army for half his life had left John with an OCD-like behaviour to have everything neat and tidy.

Mycroft spent a few minutes going through the wardrobe but came up empty. He and Gregory had already used one of John's favourite jumpers, and Sherlock's coat and silk shirt. Sighing, Mycroft closed the wardrobe and exited the bedroom.

At the last minute he decided to have a look in John's old room, now the spare bedroom. When he entered he found the place mostly clean, though the double bed was stacked high with various books and equipment Sherlock couldn't fit anywhere else.

The dresser was empty, but Mycroft got lucky with the wardrobe. A few of John's older clothing was still hanging in there; old jeans, jumpers that Sherlock disliked on him, and worn Doctor Who shirts. Mycroft flicked through them all before coming to the last hangers.

John's old army fatigues were well-worn, though pressed, clean and in good condition. There were khaki-coloured camouflage trousers, with matching jackets that all had _Watson_ stitched onto the left side in black thread. The shirts were a sandy brown colour and all hanging neatly.

Beside the fatigues was John's dress uniform. It consisted of a dark blue tunic with matching trousers with a peaked hat that was sitting wedged between the railing and top of the wardrobe. The medals John had been awarded were still attached to the tunic, and Mycroft carefully removed them and placed them in the bedside table drawer.

Mycroft went back to the wardrobe, eyes roaming over the two uniforms, before settling on the heavy-duty brown boots sitting on the bottom of the wardrobe.

An evil smirk pulled at his face.

While Mycroft loved the idea of wearing John's fatigues and showing Gregory some discipline, the simple fact was that Mycroft was about five inches taller than John, and while John was broader than the politician, there was no way Mycroft would fit into his trousers, shirt, _or_ jacket, and Mycroft knew for a fact that his shoe size was bigger than John's.

But _Gregory_ was only three inches taller than John, and they were similar in body structure. Greg also had the same shoe size.

His smirk widened, blue eyes roaming over the fatigues and imagining a certain DI wearing them and hissing filthy words in his ear.

_Oh, yes_ , Mycroft mused as he took the clothing. _This could work_ very _well_.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft didn't have time to put his plan into action. He suddenly found himself with a mountain of work, and spent three weeks rushing between high security business meetings, and sitting behind his desk pouring over pile upon pile of top secret documents to try and keep the latest crisis from getting any bigger.

Greg was used to it, but he still missed his boyfriend. Crime had been a bit slow lately so he found himself with a lot of free time and no boyfriend to kiss and cuddle. He spent his days and nights roaming around the large flat he shared with Mycroft, making tea and microwavable dinners because he couldn't be bothered cooking if Mycroft wasn't there.

He hadn't seen his partner in a good two weeks; they'd exchanged the odd text, and the even rarer phone call, and Greg sighed as he sat on the sofa. As usual there was nothing on TV, and Greg didn't want to watch any of the DVDs he and Mycroft owned. He tried reading for all of five minutes before tossing the book aside.

It landed atop the various clothing Greg had left over the sofa, and the DI's eyes roamed over the other crap he'd left lying about.

_Hmm, I should probably clean up_ , Greg thought, eyeing the five dirty mugs sitting on the coffee table. _Myc will kill me if he gets home and I've trashed the flat_.

Figuring it would at least give him something to do, Greg stood and began cleaning up.

It didn't take him long to clean the sitting room, and he dumped the dishes in the alredy full dishwasher and turned it on. He put his clothes in the washing machine and left them to wash while he headed to the bedroom. 

It was the messiest place of all; Greg really became a slob when he was tired, and there were clothes, books, magazines, and shoes all over the place. He folded everything away and straightened the books on his bedside table, while wiping a layer of dust off Mycroft's books. He set them in their proper place too and went to the walk-in wardrobe to put his clean clothes away.

When Greg was done he stacked his shoes in the little shelves available but stopped when he saw a box he'd never noticed before. It was a plain thing, black, and Greg raised an eyebrow as he shuffled across to it.

He pulled it open and was surprised to find what appeared to be an army uniform, complete with boots. Then he noticed the name.

'Oh, Mycroft, you sneaking bastard,' Greg grinned, running his thumb over the _Watson_ stitched into the jacket. 'This'll show those fuckers.'

Greg tugged his mobile from his tracksuit bottoms and slid it open, quickly dialling his boyfriend.

Mycroft answered on the fifth ring.

' _This had better be important, Gregory, I'm very busy._ '

'I love you too,' Greg snorted. 'And yeah, it's important. Any idea when you'll be off work?'

' _Well, most of the situation has been detained, now it's just last minute paperwork and meetings_ ,' Mycroft said. Greg heard shuffling paper, as well as someone tapping at a keyboard. ' _I should be done within three days_.'

'Three days?' Greg groaned. 'But I miss you.'

' _I miss you too, but it can't be helped,_ ' Mycroft said. ' _I'll be home Friday night_.'

'Good,' Greg smiled. 'Um, another question; any idea what Sherlock and John are doing on the weekend?'

' _Well, Sherlock recently received a private case, and he sent John ahead of him to the country while he finished off something for Mrs Hudson. He's joining John on Saturday afternoon and they'll most likely be gone until Monday_.'

'Are you sure?' Greg asked.

' _I already looked over the case_ ,' Mycroft said dismissively, ' _it's painfully obvious but it'll take Sherlock at least a day and a half to figure it out, and John will want to rest before coming home. Why?_ '

'No reason,' Greg lied, glancing over the uniform. 'So Friday night?'

' _Most likely around ten, but I can't make any promises_ ,' Mycroft said. There was a muffled shout and Mycroft said, ' _I have to go, Gregory, I have a meeting._ '

'Okay,' Greg said, 'make sure you eat something, alright? And I'll cook on Friday.'

' _Okay, love,_ ' Mycroft said and Greg heard him standing and his PA say something. ' _I have to go, I love you._ '

'Love you too,' Greg said. 'See you Friday.'

Mycroft hung up and Greg did too, pushing his mobile back into his pocket. He glanced the fatigues over again and smirked.

'Oh, this is gonna be great.'

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Missy Fortuna_

_Hey, put me in as Johnlock. I was talking to Sal the other day and you Mystraders are gonna be paying up big time, bitch :D_

  
  


Mycroft was exhausted when he finally walked into the flat at eleven-thirty Friday night. Greg had dinner waiting in the oven and peeled Mycroft's coat, jacket, and waistcoat from his tall frame, while Mycroft leaned heavily against him and groaned.

Greg chuckled and pulled Mycroft to the dining room table, making the politician sit as he quickly re-heated their dinner.

Mycroft nearly fell asleep five times during dinner and Greg had to drag him upstairs. After brushing his teeth Mycroft stripped to his birthday suit and climbed right into bed, not bothering to look for pyjamas.

'M'sorry, Greg,' Mycroft mumbled against his pillow as the DI joined him. 'M'just... t-t-tired.' He yawned thickly and Greg smiled, running his hands through his boyfriend's hair and hearing Mycroft hum.

'S'alright, Myc, I get it. Just rest, okay?'

'Mm, sounds... good...' Mycroft mumbled before trailing off as he fell asleep.

Greg kissed him softly before snuggling up to his partner.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Missy Fortuna_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_Fuck you, Missy, don't make me come down to Gangs and show you how real cops do it._

  
  


Mycroft woke midday Saturday feeling better rested then he had in weeks, though absolutely starving and a bit horny. Greg was already up and Mycroft pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms and his dressing gown before heading downstairs.

Greg was eating a sandwich at the table while reading the paper, and smiled when Mycroft walked across to him. 'Afternoon, gorgeous.'

'Mm,' Mycroft hummed, kissing the DI softly. 'I haven't slept in this late in months.'

Greg smiled as Mycroft stepped up into the kitchen, heading for the coffee machine. 'Yeah, well you needed the rest.'

'I'm looking forward to just sitting and doing nothing,' Mycroft said. 'No reading, no TV, just... nothing.'

'How interesting,' Greg snorted.

Mycroft chuckled as he rejoined his partner. 'I've spent the last three weeks reading copious amounts of top secret disasters and plans, Gregory. I don't want to set eyes on any more text, thank you very much.'

'M'kay, if that's what you want,' Greg said.

'Would you like to join me?' Mycroft asked.

'I will unless I get called for a case,' Greg said. 'Oh, we're going out tomorrow for lunch, okay? So no work, no nothing. You, me, out.'

'Yes, sir,' Mycroft smiled.

Greg grinned.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Missy Fortuna_

_Ooh, I'm shaking, Dimmo. Piss off and put me in the pool._

  
  


'Gregory, I thought we were going to lunch,' Mycroft said as he stepped out of his car.

'We are,' Greg said, turning to speak softly to the driver. The man nodded over the backseats and Greg shut the door.

'But we're at 221- oh, what have you planned?' Mycroft asked, catching on quickly.

Greg smirked and went around to the boot. Mycroft watched as he pulled a black box out- a black box Mycroft was _very_ familiar with.

'You found it,' the politician smiled.

Greg nodded and slammed the boot shut. 'Yup. Now get upstairs, Mr Holmes, _now_.'

Mycroft was quick to comply and soon found himself in the kitchen of 221B. Greg looked around carefully before saying, 'You wait here, and that's an _order_.'

Mycroft nodded, watching as Greg disappeared. He placed his umbrella against the table, which was covered in Sherlock's various experiments, and stood waiting quietly. When Greg returned all the blood in Mycroft's body instantly rushed to his cock. He looked absolutely fuckable in John's fatigues, even if the sleeves were a little short.

'Glad to see you approve,' Greg smirked as Mycroft's eyes ran over Greg slowly. 'Now, Holmes, is it?' Mycroft nodded and Greg rushed across the kitchen, grabbing Mycroft by the back of the head. The taller man winced as his head was wrenched back and Greg hissed, 'Is that any way to answer your commanding officer?'

'N-No, sir,' Mycroft gasped.

'What should you have said?'

'Yes, sir, it's Holmes.'

Greg snorted and let Mycroft go, the politician instantly standing tall. 'You've got an attitude, Holmes, and I'm gonna fuck it out of you.' Mycroft's eyes widened and Greg smirked. 'Yeah, that's right,' the DI continued, smoothing down his fatigues. 'I've heard you're a little slut who likes cock- is it true, Holmes?'

He glared at Mycroft and the elder Holmes quickly said, 'Yes, sir, I like cock.'

'How much do you like it?'

'Very much, Captain Lestrade,' Mycroft smiled.

Greg chuckled. 'Good, good. I like sluts, Holmes.' He closed the distance between them and grabbed Mycroft's arse, quickly grinding their crotches together. Mycroft gasped and his hands twitched, but Greg said, 'Did I give you permission to move?'

'No, sir,' Mycroft answered.

Greg squeezed his arse tightly and Mycroft let out a soft whimper. 'Good, you're learning. Soon I'll have you taking my cock without moving an inch.' Mycroft's eyes widened slightly and Greg snickered as he continued to knead his boyfriend's cheeks. 'You've got a gorgeous arse, Holmes, anyone ever tell you that?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I bet it takes cock good,' Greg continued. 'It swallows long, thick cocks regularly, doesn't it?'

'Yes, sir,' Mycroft said, voice having dropped an octave.

'Tell me what you like, Holmes,' Greg ordered. 'Tell me what cock sluts like.'

Mycroft was breathing heavily by this point and wet his lips as Greg stared at him. 'I... I like being fucked, sir.' Greg raised an eyebrow. 'Hard,' Mycroft elaborated, feeling a faint blush colour his cheeks. 'I like being bent over any available surface and taken from behind, Captain, and I like writhing about beneath strong men like yourself as I'm fucked into a mattress.'

Greg licked his lips slowly, eyes darkening in arousal. 'You like that, huh?'

'Very much, Captain Lestrade.'

  
  


_Text To: Missy Fortuna_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_Yeah, yeah, keep your knickers on, bloody hell. You're in, alright?_

  
  


'Mm,' Greg mused, digging his fingers into Mycroft's arse. Mycroft could feel Greg's hardening cock pressing against his thigh, and it was all he could do not to rut shamelessly against it. 'Well you're my whore now, Holmes, and I'll give it to you just like you like,' the DI finally continued. 'I'll fuck you six ways till Sunday, so hard you can't sit right in those posh offices of yours.'

Mycroft moaned softly.

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?' Greg smirked. 'Your arse aching from a thorough pounding?'

'Yes, sir,' Mycroft said quickly.

'Imagine it, Holmes,' Greg said, leaning up to whisper in Mycroft's ear as he continued to knead the man's arse. 'My prick breaching your tight little hole, slamming into you hard and fast as you fight against whatever I've tied you to.' Mycroft moaned loudly. 'My balls slapping into your gorgeous cheeks, the slick wet sound of my manhood pounding into you.'

'P-Please, sir,' Mycroft whimpered.

'What was that, Holmes?'

'I w-want you to touch me,' Mycroft begged.

'Already?' Greg said, drawing back. The politician nodded quickly. 'What a greedy little whore you are,' Greg chuckled. 'Where do you get off on telling me what to do?'

'I didn't tell, I ask-'

Greg grabbed him forcefully and Mycroft gasped as he was slammed into the fridge, various notes that had been stuck to it fluttering through the air.

'Don't you dare backchat me, you filthy fucking slut!' Greg hissed. 'You're nothing but a piece of arse for my pleasure, got that? I'll use you in any way I see fit, Holmes!'

Mycroft was painfully hard by now, eyes dark with arousal, cheeks pink and breathing laboured. He didn't know why Greg shouting at him and calling him a slut was such a turn on, but it really was.

Suddenly Greg was wrenching his head back again, fingers twisted through his hair painfully and nails digging into his scalp. 'Do I make myself perfectly clear?' Greg demanded.

'Y-Yes, Captain Lestrade,' Mycroft gasped.

'Good,' Greg said, keeping Mycroft's head tilted. He leaned forward and nuzzled the taller man's soft skin, Mycroft tensing.

A warm, wet tongue licked up his throat and Mycroft had to stiffle groan, a yelp when Greg bit hard into his neck. The DI knew better than to leave marks though, and quickly moved on, pressing soft kisses to Mycroft's neck, his jaw, before tugging lightly on his ear.

'Mm, you're a gorgeous slut, I'll give you that,' Greg murmured. 'So eager to please me.' His free hand squeezed Mycroft's arse. 'I wanna see that gorgeous fucking arse you've got, turn around.'

He didn't give Mycroft an option, tugging the man forward and spinning him around. He forced the politician against the counter, Mycroft gasping as his arms and stomach came into contact painfully with the hard wood.

Greg wasted no time in ripping Mycroft's belt free, his trousers and underwear soon pooled around his ankles. Greg crouched to help Mycroft from his shoes and socks, and he tossed everything across the kitchen.

Mycroft stood bent over the counter, arse on display and cock hanging hard and weeping between his legs. He whimpered when Greg's hands softly caressed both cheeks, before a _slap_ rang out followed by a sharp sting.

Mycroft jolted and Greg grabbed his hips, grinding his clothed erection against Mycroft's arse. Mycroft moaned and Greg hissed, 'Fuck, you're so fucking hot, you know that?'

Mycroft just moaned again.

'Standing there, waiting for me,' Greg continued, rutting hard against the younger man. 'And fuck, your arse.'

He slapped Mycroft again and the elder Holmes moaned loudly, Greg smirking behind him. He slapped Mycroft again before grabbing both cheeks, parting them roughly and watching Mycroft's skin turn white where his fingers dug in. Mycroft's puckered entrance came into view and Greg nearly lost it; fuck, he didn't know how Mycroft turned him on so quickly without doing anything.

He leaned over Mycroft, front pressed to the politician's back, and hissed in his ear. 'You might be a slut, but I think you keep yourself clean like a good little boy, don't you?'

'Of course, sir,' Mycroft answered, trying not to thrust back against Greg's ample package.

'Good, 'cause I wanna have a little fun before I fuck that tight hole of yours, Holmes.'

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Missy Fortuna_

_Kisses :)_

  
  


Mycroft didn't know what he had in mind, but as long as Greg actually touched him he was completely fine. So he stayed still, leaning on his elbows, with his arse on show and Greg behind him.

He felt his cheeks being spread again and a thumb ghosting over his entrance. His muscles automatically clenched when a dry digit tried to wriggle into his hole, and Greg said, 'Jesus fuck, you're tight.'

'All for you, sir,' Mycroft said, trying to relax.

'Bit dry, though,' Greg commented. 'I'll have to change that.'

Suddenly a warm tongue was licking between his cheeks, and Mycroft couldn't hold back the moan or the little jolt his hips gave. Greg slapped him hard and it just made Mycroft moan that much more as the sting mixed deliciously with the arousal burning through him.

Greg chuckled. 'A pain slut too, eh?'

'The right kind of pain can be very pleasurable, sir,' Mycroft answered.

'Mm, we'll see about that. But stay fucking still unless you want my cock in your arse with no lube.'

Mycroft stiffened and Greg rubbed his cheeks softly. He knew his boyfriend wouldn't _really_ enter him with no lubricant. While Mycroft was occasionally open to being fucked with no preperation- sometimes he really needed the pain- Greg entering him dry would cause some serious damage. Of course Greg loved him, and would never do that- he'd also feel quite a lot of pain- but Mycroft's body still tensed in fear.

Greg leaned over him again, rubbing Mycroft's arse softly. 'Good boy, stay still and let Captain Lestrade take care of you.'

Mycroft slowly relaxed and Greg crouched down, tongue wetting his lips before sliding up Mycroft's arse. The politician groaned but didn't move as Greg's wet organ softly lapped over his entrance. Greg smiled, happy with Mycroft's self-control, and decided to thrust his tongue right into Mycroft's arse.

No sex for three weeks had Mycroft amazingly tight, and even Greg's tongue had trouble working past the ring of muscles. He pulled the younger man's cheeks further apart and buried his face between them as he thrust his tongue in.

Mycroft moaned loudly, head bent as Greg rimmed him. It felt amazing, incredible, and Mycroft's cock was leaking steadily, pre-come dripping onto the tiled floor.

Greg hummed as he worked, his tongue twisting and flicking inside Mycroft before drawing back to run over his slightly dilated hole. Mycroft whimpered and mewled every time Greg withdrew, and the DI slapped him lightly on the arse to remind him to keep still.

After a few minutes Greg dropped his hands from Mycroft's arse to tug his trousers open, though kept tonguing the man's hole. Once he'd got his aching cock out, he slid the bottle of lube he'd found in the box from his pocket.

Greg had noticed earlier that it was flavoured lube and smirked against his boyfriend as he popped the cap. Mycroft, of course, heard the sound and his body tensed, just waiting for a deeper penetration.

'Look at you,' Greg said as he pulled back. 'Practically begging, you greedy little prick.'

Mycroft didn't respond and Greg poured gel onto his fingers before sitting the bottle on the floor. He trailed his left hand up Mycroft's thigh and over his slightly-pink arse, Mycroft quivering slightly when the DI using his fingers to spread Mycroft's cheeks.

With no warning at all, Greg thrust two fingers deep into his boyfriend, and no amount of control could stop Mycroft's hips from jerking, a deep groan erupting from his throat.

Greg smirked as he quickly finger-fucked his boyfriend, only scissoring his digits slightly; he really wanted Mycroft to feel him when he used his cock. Greg withdrew his fingers after a few minutes and leaned up to lick gel from around his hole, Mycroft moaning.

It tasted a bit like strawberries and Greg hummed as he stood. He pulled Mycroft up and said, 'Get out of your clothes now, you slut.'

Mycroft was quick to comply, tearing his jacket, waistcoat, tie and shirt off. He let them all drop to the floor and Greg smiled. He grabbed Mycroft's chin and said, 'Clean my fingers like a good little boy, m'kay?'

Mycroft's mouth immediately dropped open and Greg thrust both fingers into his mouth, Mycroft's lips closing tightly and sucking back on the digits. His tongue ran up and down Greg's skin until all the flavoured-gel was gone, and Greg moaned as his fingers slid out wetly.

'What else can you do with that mouth, Holmes?'

'Anything you want, sir,' Mycroft answered breathlessly.

He was achingly hard, and his arse really needed something much larger than fingers shoved in it, but Mycroft was too into the role to worry about that. Greg smirked and forced him to his knees, and Mycroft saw that his partner had already freed his erection.

'Open wide, I've got a present for you,' Greg said sweetly.

Again Mycroft's mouth dropped open, only this time Greg rammed his cock down his throat instead of his fingers. Mycroft choked but that didn't stop Greg, who moaned and tipped his head back. He threaded his fingers through Mycroft's ginger-brown hair and tugged painfully as he set up a quick pace, hips snapping as he buried himself down his boyfriend's throat over and over again.

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Cheryl A Sherman_

_Oi, put me in this pool thing. Scotland Yard has suddenly become a lot more interesting; you people are lunatics._

  
  


'Fuck, you're fucking amazing,' Greg gasped, eyes shut tightly. Mycroft grunted around him, arms by his side as his boyfriend abused his mouth. A few more thrusts and Greg pulled out, not wanting to come down Mycroft's throat. He dropped to his own knees and Mycroft gasped in surprise when Greg crashed their mouths together, giving the politician an extremely filthy kiss that made his cock ache.

He practically squealed when Greg touched the long neglected organ, and the DI chuckled against his lips as he stroked Mycroft from root to tip, thumb flicking through the steady stream of pre-come.

'Fuck, so hard for me already,' Greg said. 'You want me to fuck you, Holmes?'

'Yes, sir,' Mycroft panted, body trembling.

'Mm, you're a good whore, so I'll give you all the cock you need.' Mycroft looked relieved as Greg pulled back, grabbing the politician's clothes. He laid them out on the floor before the oven and said, 'Lie down, slut.'

Mycroft quickly did as he was told, feeling extremely exposed as Greg stood beside him still fully clothed.

'Hmm, we need something...' Greg mused before looking down at his boots. 'This'll do.' He bent and pulled the laces from John's army boots, Mycroft watching as the DI quickly got the two laces free. He crouched beside Mycroft and said, 'Arms up, wrists together, above your head.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but did as asked, and Greg quickly looped the laces tightly around his wrists. He then looked around, wondering what he could tie Mycroft too...

He smirked and made Mycroft shuffle back until the politician's hands reached the oven door. He tied his partner's wrists to the handle, and Mycroft looked up in alarm.

Greg snickered. 'Yeah, I know we broke our own oven, but this is Sherlock and John's, so who cares?'

Mycroft smiled and nodded as Greg crawled between his legs. The DI licked his lips as he looked at a thoroughly debauched and extremely horny Mycroft Holmes lying spread before him. He grabbed Mycroft's legs and hoisted them over his shoulders, Mycroft shifting a bit as his hips were lifted.

Greg shuffled forward and grabbed his cock, moving until the head was pressing against Mycroft's hole.

'You wanna be fucked, Holmes?' Greg asked, quickly falling back into their role-playing.

'Yes please, sir,' Mycroft begged. 'Fuck me like the whore I am, please.'

'Good answer,' Greg said before thrusting in. He moaned as he pushed in, Mycroft's muscles fighting him all the way until the last three inches, where he slipped in completely, balls resting against his lover's arse.

'Fuck,' Mycroft breathed and tugged on his arms; bad idea, because the oven door popped open and Mycroft yelped as he caught it, quickly saving himself from being smacked in the face.

'Right, probably not a good idea,' Greg mused. 'Hang on.' He grabbed Mycroft's hips and shuffled back awkwardly until Mycroft was completely stretched out and the oven door was hanging open. 'Much better.'

Mycroft chuckled before quickly sobering. 'Please, Captain Lestrade, fuck me hard.'

'Oh, I plan to,' Greg said, rolling his hips so Mycroft could feel every inch of him. 'You like my prick in your tight little hole, Holmes?'

'Uh... y-yes, sir,' Mycroft nodded.

'Fuck, you feel amazing, squeezing around me so tightly,' Greg moaned. 'Fuck, Holmes.'

'Fuck me, please!' Mycroft begged. 'Please, sir, I need it!'

Greg couldn't hold back any longer and quickly pulled out before thrusting back in. He set up a furious rhythm, Mycroft sliding against his clothes and whimpering, gasping, and mewling as Greg pounded into him. The slick sound of the DI fucking his partner filled the kitchen, as well as his balls slapping against Mycroft's cheeks, and their ragged breathing and common curses.

Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft's thighs and leaned back on his legs, pulling the politician with him. Mycroft moaned loudly as Greg slammed into him, hitting his prostate and sending delicious pleasure racing through the man on the floor.

'You like that?' Greg grunted, sweat already dotting his forehead, his cheeks red and lips parted as he panted hard. 'I said _did you like that_?' he shouted and slammed in hard, Mycroft whimpering beneath him.

'Y-Yes, s-sir,' he panted.

'You like me fucking you hard like the filthy cock slut you are?' Greg asked. Mycroft nodded. 'Look at you, taking my prick in like a greedy little whore,' he continued. 'Your arse just swallowing me again and again, your muscles so fucking tight around me.'

He let out his own moan, Mycroft tugging on his restraints as he arched under his partner. His arse was feeling thoroughly abused and so very fucking full, and the sight of Greg fucking him and muttering filthy words was definitely a turn on. Added on were the sore red marks that were appearing on Mycroft's wrists, and the politician was having a pretty good fucking time.

Greg leaned forward suddenly, bending Mycroft's legs up to his chest. The younger man cried out as he was filled yet again, Greg sliding in deeper then before and snapping his hips roughly, his balls slapping against Mycroft's arse.

'F-Fuck that feels g-good, Captain,' Mycroft moaned, Greg panting above him. 'Fuck, your cock, it's so big.'

Greg groaned again.

  
  


_Text To: Cheryl A Sherman_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_Normal's overrated. What's with everyone going for Johnlock, huh? I'm telling you, Suits'll win this._

  
  


'Ah!' Mycroft cried when his prostate was hit. 'Fuck, sir, just there, again! Oh fuck, you fuck me so good.'

Greg lost it then and crashed their lips together, the two men panting against each other as they fucked. Greg dropped one hand to grab Mycroft's cock, the politician gasping against him as the organ was tugged roughly.

'Come on, Holmes,' Greg hissed against his lips. 'Come with my cock buried in you and my hand around your own. Come on, you greedy little slut, you know you want to.''

Mycroft whimpered, moaned, and thrashed against Greg and the laces keeping his wrists tied together. The oven door was now protesting loudly, screeching as it was pulled and bounced by the fucking couple.

'Come on, Holmes, I wanna see you come!' Greg ordered. Mycroft whimpered. 'NOW!' the DI shouted and slammed in hard.

Mycroft arched up as he came, exploding all over his chest and the fatigues Greg was still wearing. He shuddered as Greg milked the climax from him and the DI buried his face in Mycroft's heated and sweaty neck, continuing to fuck his boyfriend hard.

The last shudders of Mycroft's orgasm were just dying down when Greg finally came, shooting his load deep into his boyfriend's body and crying out against Mycroft's neck. The politician's muscles were still amazingly tight and tugged the orgasm from his as Greg half-heartedly thrust, his shaft now twitching.

They panted together, Mycroft's legs still bent and Greg lying atop him.

'Greg, my legs,' Mycroft moaned.

Greg pulled back and said, 'Sorry,' as he let Mycroft's legs drop, the politician groaning in relief. Greg was still buried inside him and smiled as he leaned down to press their lips together, the two exchanging soft, languid kisses.

'That was very nice,' Mycroft comment when they broke apart.

Greg chuckled. 'I'd hope so.'

'Mm, just what I needed,' Mycroft smiled, tugging on his wrists.

'Do you think we broke their oven?' Greg asked.

Before Mycroft could answer, the front door of 221B opened and Mrs Hudson walked in. 'I heard scream- _oh dear_!'

She stood frozen in shock as Greg leapt back from Mycroft, sliding out of the man's tender hole and falling on his arse as his trousers caught around his thighs. Mycroft tried to sit up, forgetting he was tied to the oven door, and there was a loud shriek and crunch as the already old and rusting door tore right off and slammed into the floor, pulling Mycroft back with it.

The politician groaned in pain and Mrs Hudson covered her eyes. Greg was wincing and rubbing his arse, his cock spreading lube and come all over his crotch.

Poor Mycroft was stuck where he was, completely naked and looking thoroughly fucked. His blue eyes were wide as Mrs Hudson started walking backwards.

'Right, well,' the woman said, clearing her throat, 'just... clean up when you're done, dears, this is a kitchen, remember... and... well...'

She was out the door a few seconds later, slamming it behind her. Mycroft groaned again and tried to sit up, but his arms were now pulled over his head, wrists still attached to the oven door. 'Gregory?'

'Sorry,' Greg said, shuffling forward slowly and trying to tug his trousers up. He soon got Mycroft free and the politician winced, rubbing his wrists. 'I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?' Greg asked.

'No, the door did,' Mycroft said and scowled at it. 'I'll be bruised for weeks.'

'Ah, well,' Greg said and smirked, 'you'll remember the thorough fucking you got from Captain Lestrade.'

Mycroft chuckled and pressed their lips together, Greg still smirking. 'Come on, love, we'd better clean up before Mrs Hudson decides to come back and get another peek at us.'

'I can't believe she saw us naked,' Greg groaned, helping Mycroft stand.

' _Us_?' the politician scowled. 'No, my dear Gregory, _me_. She saw _me_ completely naked, you just had your cock out.'

'Whatever,' Greg said dismissively, looking down at his crotch as Mycroft grabbed his clothes. When the younger man was dressed, Greg said, 'So, another oven door has met it's end because of our sex life.' Mycroft chuckled. 'What do we do with it?'

Mycroft smirked as he looked from the door to the fatigues Greg was still wearing. 'Leave that to me, Gregory.'

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Cheryl A Sherman_

_Johnlock for the win!_

  
  


John groaned as he finally sat, his feet aching from chasing lunatic criminals around the fucking countryside all weekend. Sherlock looked as fresh as a daisy and bounced into the kitchen, jumping over the luggage John had dumped by the door, his coat and scarf going flying as he stood before the kitchen table.

John kicked his shoes off and grabbed the remote, deciding he'd make tea after seeing what was on.

There was a few minutes silence as Sherlock took his jacket off and sat at the kitchen table to go over one of his experiments. John yawned, flicking through the channels and wondering what takeaway he could get for dinner.

'John?' Sherlock queried suddenly.

'Mm?'

There was a pause before, 'Didn't we used to have a door on our oven?'

John frowned. 'What?'

'Ovens comes with doors, yes? Over the front of them, to keep the heat in? Just below the stove top?'

'Um...' John frowned further, '... yeah...'

'I thought so.'

'Wait, what?' John said, turning to look over the couch. Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, face pressed to his microscope. He pointed over the table and John craned his neck, but he couldn't see the other side of the kitchen from where he was sitting.

Finally he stood and stretched before heading towards Sherlock, who didn't move.

'What are you on about?' John asked.

Sherlock pointed again and John turned, only to frown once more; the oven door was missing.

'Um... well, that's... odd,' John tried.

'We _did_ have an oven door, right?' Sherlock said without looking up. 'Not that I ever pay particular attention to the kitchen besides where my experiments are, but we _did_ have an oven door if memory serves me.'

'Yer, we did,' John mumbled, crossing his arms. 'What the bloody hell?'

'Maybe someone broke in,' Sherlock mused.

John looked at him. 'Why would someone break in and steal our oven door?'

'Don't ask me how the teenage mind works; bunch of lunatics.'

'Oh, so it was teenage oven-door stealers, then,' John snorted. 'Those bloody gangs and their oven fixations.'

Sherlock just shrugged and the doctor looked at their oven again.

'That's just really odd,' John said. 'Maybe Mrs Hudson broke it.'

'Why would Mrs Hudson use our oven door?'

'Well, she'd be using our oven,' John said, stepping closer to the machine. 'You know, maybe hers broke and she used ours, but then ours broke too.'

'I see... well Mrs Hudson certainly has been hiding her strength.'

John smiled and went back to his boyfriend, kissing his cheek. He didn't expect anything in return and Sherlock didn't give it, more than focused on whatever experiment he was running.

'I'll ask her tomorrow,' John said, heading back into the sitting room yawning. 'Too tired now,' he added, flopping onto the couch and grabbing the phone to order some much needed food.

Sherlock just hummed and nodded, having already forgotten about the oven.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Cheryl A Sherman_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_And you call ME insane._

  
  


When John asked Mrs Hudson the following day, the woman blushed, stuttered that she had nothing to do with any oven doors anywhere, and hastily made her escape. John was even more confused then before as he lugged the shopping up to 221B, kicking the door all the way open and shuffling in.

Sherlock was lazing back on the sofa and John didn't bother asking for help; he wouldn't get it. He'd just dumped the groceries on the floor- Sherlock was still using the table- when there was a knock on the door.

John turned to see a pretty young woman, probably in her late twenties, with caramal coloured hair and bright blue eyes. She was wearing jeans and a jacket, and had a large brown-wrapped parcel at her feet. She smiled warmly at him before glancing down at the BlackBerry she was tapping away at.

Pretty girl; BlackBerry; one of Mycroft's people.

John crossed to her and said, 'Can I help you?'

Sherlock sat up quickly, always on the lookout for John flirting with women; not that he needed to worry, John definitely prefered cock now, but still.

'I have a package for Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson,' the girl said, not looking up from her BlackBerry.

'Erm... okay, from who?' John asked. The woman just smirked at him and pushed the package so it was leaning against the doorframe before turning and heading downstairs. 'Wait, I don't have to sign or anything?' 

'No, I know who you are, Dr Watson!' the woman called over her shoudler before disappearing.

'You'd think your brother would have a hord of pretty young men at his disposal,' John muttered as he grabbed the heavy package.

'No, he tried that,' Sherlock said, peering at the package curiously. 'They all either wanted to sleep with him or take his job, so Mycroft sticks to hiring women now. They're smart enough not to fall in love with a gay man.'

John dropped the package onto the coffee table and Sherlock immediately tore it open.

They both froze as their oven door was revealed, the white metal slightly scratched up and with brown laces tied around the handle.

'I don't understand,' Sherlock said.

'It's our oven door.'

'Oh,' the genius said, 'okay... why did Mycroft take it?'

John had a bad feeling, especially when he saw the laces. And then he noticed there was something else beneath the door, and picked it up.

'THAT SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!' John screeched.

Sherlock looked at him in alarm as John tossed the door aside in favour of glaring at his army fatigues; fatigues he _thought_ were still upstairs in his old room.

'John?' Sherlock questioned.

John seethed as he spotted the folded paper stuck to the front of his jacket with a needle. He ripped it clear and flipped it open, Sherlock leaning over to read with him;

  
  


_My apologies, I'll send someone to fix the oven - MH_

  
  


**Fuck you and fuck your oven door. Payback's a bitch - Greg**

  
  


John blinked and Sherlock said, 'Mycroft and Gregory broke our oven door.'

'Yeah.'

'Most likely while having sex.'

'Mm-hmm,' John nodded.

'And while Gregory- because Mycroft's too tall- wore your army fatigues.'

'Those fucking mother fucking stupid fucking pricks!' John shouted, shooting to his feet and kicking the oven door. 'What the fuck is their problem, huh? What did I ever fucking do to them?'

John continued to rant and Sherlock let him, while thinking how truly clever and diabolical his brother was. When the soldier had stopped shouting, Sherlock said, 'This is perfect retaliation, John.' His partner looked at him. 'We stole Lestrade's uniform, so they stole yours.'

'No, _you_ stole Greg's uniform!' John shouted. 'I just... enjoyed it with you.'

Sherlock chuckled and glanced back at John's uniform. 'You know, I never even thought to ask if you still had your fatigues.' He sighed. 'A pity we never used them.'

'And now we never can, because you won't use anything that came into contact with your naked brother,' John groaned, flopping back onto the couch. 'I hate you all; every single one of you.'

'What did I do?' Sherlock pouted.

John scowled at him and folded his arms. 'Bloody Holmeses.'

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Cheryl A Sherman_

_:p_

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text From: Ooh, Chicken Salad_

_To: Mike Dimmock_

_Mystrade's going down, bitch :)_

  
  


Dimmock read over the text at least four times before scanning the number, trying to remember it. Of course he could barely remember his own mobile number, let alone anyone else's, and scowled as he sent a text back;

  
  


_Text From: Mike Dimmock_

_To: Ooh, Chicken Salad_

_Who is this?_

  
  


He didn't have to wait long for a reply;

  
  


_Text From: Ooh, Chicken Salad_

_To: Mike Dimmock_

_Your boyfriend! Give is a kiss!_

  
  


'Right,' Dimmock said, standing up from his desk and storming from his office. He turned to face the officers sitting at their desks, all of whom glanced up from their work. 'Who the fuck is _Ooh, Chicken Salad_?'

There was a lot of snickering and Dimmock scowled.

'Seriously, who the fuck's taking my phone and changing all the names?'

'Your boyfriend?' someone suggested.

'Shut the fuck up, I don't have a boyfriend!' Dimmock shouted.

'Clearly,' another officer commented. 'If you did you wouldn't be so cranky.'

'Dimmo needs a shag!'

Soon there was a chant of _Dimmo needs a shag!_ and the young DI fumed as he slammed his office door shut. Sally Donovan popped up from behind Sergeant Wentworth's desk, chuckling and grabbing the young man's phone.

'Who wants to see him go pink again?' she asked.

Everyone cheered.


	22. Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Sunshine Gatiss comes from **Sunshine Through The Storm** , who also wrote the first text.

'Well, if it makes you feel any better,' Greg said, smoking curling around his head, 'we had a _lot_ of fun with your uniform.'

John scowled at the DI, and for a split second imagined throwing himself at the older man and beating the shit out of him. But he didn't know how good a fighter Greg was- he _was_ a cop, after all- and they were surrounded by other cops, so John wouldn't get too many hits in. And he really didn't want to think about what Mycroft would do to him if he bashed his boyfriend.

'Come on, John, all's fair in love and war,' Greg said, smirking at the doctor as he took a drag of his cigarette.

'I hate you,' John grunted, looking around at the crime scene. Sherlock and Sally were deep in conversation, and John found it odd that they were getting along. Ever since this sex-war had started, Sally and Sherlock had found common ground; betting on people's sex lives.

'Seriously, you completely ruined one of mine and Mycroft's favourite games,' Greg said, the doctor grimacing at him. 'Do you have any idea how hot it is to tie your partner up?'

'Well...' John muttered, thinking about Sherlock tying him up while he was wearing Greg's uniform.

'Yeah, exactly,' Greg grunted. 'And now I can't do that to Mycroft because he refuses to do anything sexual with my old uniform. I bought another one but it's not the same.'

'Well I'll never know what it's like to wear my fatigues and fuck Sherlock into the mattress,' John said. ' _Someone_ ruined that little fantasy before it could even happen.'

Greg just smirked at his friend.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Sun-Sunny-Sunshine_

_Hey, Mikey. It's Sunshine Gatiss from the pathology lab at St. Bart's, what's up? Molly was telling me about this pool you've got going on Sherlock and his brother "Nothing Suits Him Like A Suit". I was going for Johnlock, but then we had Lestrade down here raging about a uniform. I ain't ever seen him that loco. Put me for Mystrade. It's going to be legend!_

_Much love,_

_Sunny xx_

  
  


Sherlock sat on the sofa, wearing a pair of John's pyjama pants and his dressing gown. He was just staring into space, brooding... or maybe plotting to overthrow the Queen and take over Britain, John wasn't sure. He just left his partner to it and made tea, updated his blog, fumed about the TV playing shit, and made more tea.

By eleven pm Sherlock still hadn't moved and John ordered Chinese, hoping he'd be able to coax Sherlock to eat since he wasn't on a case. The one earlier had been wrapped up quickly and Greg was at Scotland Yard interrogating the killer.

John had just sat down with a plate full of rice, noodles, and curry prawns when suddenly Sherlock jumped to his feet and shouted, 'That's it!'

John almost overturned his plate and scowled at his boyfriend. 'What's it? And can't _it_ be a little quiter?'

Sherlock ignored him, mumbling to himself. 'It'll completely ruin every single dinner he ever has; he'll have to order some other type of dessert. Birthdays, holidays, absolutely _everything_ will be ruined!'

He had a wild look in his eyes and started rubbing his hands together, making John frown in concern. 'Er... Sherlock, you alright?'

'Oh, I'm absolutely fine,' Sherlock grinned. 'Spiffy, in fact; marvellous, great, I'm-'

'I get it,' John cut in. He set his plate on the coffee table and grabbed his beer. 'And why are you spiffy, marvellous, and great? You know, besides the usual reasons.'

Sherlock turned to grin at him. 'I've figured out a way to get Mycroft and Gregory back.'

'Oh?'

Sherlock nodded.

'Gonna share it with the class?'

Sherlock frowned and looked around. 'What class?'

'It's just an expression,' John sighed.

'I see...'

'So...?'

'All in good time, my dear John.' Sherlock beamed, pecked John on the lips, and pormptly stole his plate before sitting and shovelling food into his mouth.

John went to reprimand him but then decided it wasn't worth it. Sherlock _was_ eating, after all. So he dished himself up another plate and sat down to watch TV, throwing Sherlock a curious look every few minutes. The genius was still grinning when they went to bed.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Sun-Sunny-Sunshine_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_Yes, another Mystrader! There are too many people at the Yard who go for Johnlock, even though most people hate Sherlock. Um, quick question; how did you get your number into my phone under "Sun-Sunny-Sunshine"?_

  
  


John had work the next day and left Sherlock to his own devices. The consulting detective had planted himself on the sofa after breakfast- well, after John ate breakfast and Sherlock sat with his arms wrapped around the shorter man humming- and when John got home Sherlock was _still_ tapping away at his iPhone.

'Are you okay?' he asked.

'Oh, yes,' Sherlock nodded. 'I was just texting Bianca.'

'Who?'

'Mycroft's assistant.'

'Oh, Anthea,' John nodded.

'You _do_ know that's not her real name, yes?' Sherlock said.

John smiled as he bent down to plant a soft kiss on the genius' lips. 'Yeah, I figured when we first met,' he nodded. 'But Anthea kinda suits her, so it stuck. Greg calls her Anthea too.'

'Hmm,' Sherlock mused before going back to his mobile.

'So you're alright?' John asked.

'Yes, just planning revenge,' Sherlock said, waving a dismissive hand.

'Right,' John nodded. 'Is this revenge taking place any time soon?'

'Thursday,' Sherlock informed him. 'Mycroft will be swamped with meetings, Lestrade will be busy with paperwork, and I have the new password for my brother's flat.' He beamed in delight and John couldn't help but chuckle.

'Alright, well I've got an early shift Thursday, so I could do with some relaxing sex.'

'Oh, John,' Sherlock tisked and shook his head slightly. 'There will be _nothing_ relaxing about this sex trip.' He paused. 'Well, you might be tired afterwards.'

'I'm always tired,' John grinned.

'And that's why I love you.'

John laughed.

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Sun-Sunny-Sunshine_

_I like Sherlock, don't get me wrong; watching him hit a body with a riding crop is always good fun. But Suits will definitely win. I'm insane, dear Michael, hasn't anyone told you that? I'm also a ninja; shh, don't tell anyone!_

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Thursday couldn't come quickly enough. Sherlock had had three seperate cases, all from civilians, and had managed to solve four cold cases after he snuck into Scotland Yard and broke into Greg's filing cabinet. Greg was pissed off, but thanked the sociopath for solving them. Sherlock flipped him off; he was still annoyed about John's fatigues.

After getting home from the surgery, Sherlock whisked John outside and into a cab that took them to Mycroft and Greg's spacious flat. Sherlock entered the password - "Gregorio"- with a laugh, and he and John were suddenly walking through the flat.

Sherlock went straight to the large fridge and ripped it open, blue eyes narrowed as he searched for-

'YES!'

John approached his boyfriend and said, 'What?'

Sherlock was practically vibrating with joy as he reached into the fridge and withdrew a large plate. Sitting atop it was a cake covered in chocolate icing with cut-up strawberries lining the sides. John raised an eyebrow as Sherlock set the cake on the floor and shut the fridge.

'John, naked, now,' the genius ordered as he himself started shedding clothes.

'Uh... what?'

Sherlock smiled. 'We're having sex right here with this cake.'

'We are?'

'Yes,' Sherlock nodded.

'Um... why?' John asked.

Sherlock sighed as he unbuttoned his shirt- that, his coat, and scarf all being placed on the kitchen table. 'Mycroft loves cake,' he explained, 'and I mean _really_ loves it. Chocolate cake with strawberries is his favourite dessert and when he feels good about himself he eats it all the time. He's been getting a lot of exercise since he started dating Gregory.'

He wrinkled his nose and John chuckled. No doubt by _exercise_ he meant _sex_.

'So he's been eating more cake,' Sherlock continued, now starting on his belt as he toed off his shoes. 'If we have sex with this cake he'll never be able to eat it again.'

'Oh,' John nodded, understanding now. 'Um... Sherlock, isn't that a bit... well, _mean_?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow, hands poised over his zipper. 'Well, I know you want to get back at him,' John said, 'but this is something Mycroft really loves.'

'You had no problem having sex on his piano,' Sherlock pointed out. 'And with his waistcoat, in his bed, with-'

'Yeah, yeah,' John sighed. 'But come on, Sherlock.'

'Are you forgetting our oven?' Sherlock demanded. 'Your laptop, jumper, fatigues, our wall, our-'

'Okay,' John once again cut in. He finally pulled his jacket and jumper off, his boyfriend grinning. 'I'm just saying that Mycroft's gonna be _really_ pissed off.'

'So?' Sherlock shrugged. He tore his trousers off and slid from his boxers, his cock already beginning to harden. 'Mycroft's a bastard.'

John chuckled and finished getting undressed, his clothes joining Sherlock's on the table. He was getting hot too, the very thought of Sherlock covered in thick chocolate icing making him want to moan. He could already taste the sweet chocolate, the strawberries adding a burst of flavour, and he licked his lips as Sherlock peeled the plastic wrap from the cake, his arse _right there_.

John leapt forward and sank his fingers into the perly white globes, Sherlock moaning and pushing back. When John tried to kiss his lover's back Sherlock pulled away and tugged the doctor in for a hot, dirty kiss, both men moaning into each other's mouths as they stumbled to the floor.

John winced as his knees connected with the hard wood, but it was short lived when Sherlock trailed a long, nimble finger over the top of the cake and brought it to his lips.

As soon as his finger re-appeared with a wet _pop_ , John leaned forward and sealed their mouths back together. His tongue flicked out and he shuddered as he tasted Sherlock and icing. Sherlock's tongue danced with his and the genius threaded his fingers through the older man's short brown hair, tugging him closer and deepening the kiss.

Sherlock trailed three more fingers over the top of the cake and then smeared icing around John's nipples. John leaned back and his mouth dropped open as Sherlock's talented tongue licked across his chest, his nipples immediately hardening under the onslaught.

'Fuck, Sherlock,' he moaned. 'How come we've never done this before?'

Sherlock hummed against his chest and John grabbed him by the head, keeping the taller man in place and groaning under his breath.

When Sherlock pulled away a string of saliva followed and John immediately ducked down to give him another dirty kiss. His cock was rock-hard by now and a glance at Sherlock's crotch confirmed that the genius was equally turned on.

'We'll be doing this more after today,' John promised.

'If you say so,' Sherlock grinned.

  
  


_Text To: Sun-Sunny-Sunshine_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_Okay..._

  
  


John and Sherlock broke apart again and John pulled the cake closer, the plate scraping across the floor. John was too horny to care about Mycroft's floors and dug his fingers into the food, pulling a strawberry free.

Sherlock watched as his boyfriend placed the ripe red fruit on his tongue and looked back at him. Grinning, Sherlock slid forward and sucked John's tongue into his mouth. The two flavours mixed together as he licked and nibbled, John moaning and moving closer.

'Fuck, you're so goddamn hot,' John grunted, once more pulling Sherlock's hair.

'Calm down, we have plenty of food left,' Sherlock told him. He used both hands to rip a chunk of cake free and fed it to John, the doctor humming as he chewed.

'Oh, it has jam in it,' John said, licking his lips. John _loved_ jam. Sherlock chuckled and swiped a finger through the line of jam he could see.

John immediately leapt forward, sucking his boyfriend's digit into his mouth and lapping softly at the tip. Sherlock moaned as John looked at him, expertly sucking and licking his finger until all the jam was gone.

He let Sherlock's finger leave his mouth with a long, wet slide, and licked his lips. 'So... cake, huh?'

'Mm, cake,' Sherlock grinned and crashed their mouths together. The two moaned as their tongues twisted together, lips sucking and teeth nipping as they devoured each other's mouths. Sherlock scooted that much more closer, skin aching to be against John's own.

When they broke apart John growled, 'Fuck playing.'

Before Sherlock could move, the doctor was tugging him foward, using Sherlock's body weight to force him against the floor. Sherlock yelped as his chest smacked right into the plate, cake, icing, jam and srawberries splattering against the genius' body and the floor.

Sherlock whined as John forced him further down, his skin soon completely covered. When he was finally allowed up Sherlock rolled on his back and John immediately pounced. He pressed his face against Sherlock's stomach and sucked back with his lips, tongue darting along the sociopath's smooth alabastor skin.

Sherlock moaned and writhed as John licked and sucked parts of his body clean. His fingers scratched at the floor beneath but found no purchase and when he tried to grab onto John, the doctor forced his hands to the floor by the wrists.

'No, no,' John hummed against his abdomen. 'Let me have a little fun and then you can.'

'But _Joohn_ ,' Sherlock moaned, 'feels so good.'

'Mm, tastes good too,' John nodded. He nipped lightly at Sherlock's skin before moving his way up to a nipple. He lips opened wide and he sucked back hard, tongue flicking over the small nub and making Sherlock moan.

He squirmed against the floor, arching his lower body up into John's own. John felt cake and icing smear against his side but ignored it in favour of dragging a strawberry along Sherlock's naked body with his teeth.

'John,' Sherlock moaned again. 'God, feels so nice, please...'

'Please...?'

'M-My cock,' Sherlock grunted and thrust up again.

It was one of the only parts of Sherlock's body- besides his legs- that wasn't covered in cake.

Deciding to rectify that, John let go of Sherlock's wrists and rubbed a hand up and down the genius' chest. Once he'd collected enough cake he smeared it over Sherlock's rock-hard dick, Sherlock inhaling sharply.

'Please, please, please,' he begged again, lifting his head. John shuffled across the wooden floor and between Sherlock's legs, pushing his thighs further apart as he bent down. 'John-'

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Sun-Sunny-Sunshine_

_MWAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!_

  
  


John swallowed Sherlock's cock right down to the base. Sherlock howled and thrust up, even though he couldn't get his cock any further down John's throat. The doctor sucked back hard, humming in delight when he tasted icing and pre-come.

'Jesus fuck, John,' Sherlock gasped. He tilted his head and shuffled up so he could lean on his elbows and watch John. He moaned again when he saw his cock disappear between pretty pink lips, John bobbing up and down rhythmically. 'God, you're so good,' he praised.

John smiled- well, as much as he _could_ smile with a mouth full of cock- and glanced up at Sherlock from beneath dark lashes. His eyes were almost black with lust, prick twitching against his stomach, and he sucked harder before pulling back.

His tongue stroked up Sherlock's hard shaft and twirled around the end when he drew back. He cleaned away icing and pre-come, the two distinct flavours waging war in his mouth.

'Tastes good,' he said before going right back to work. He wrapped his left hand around the base of Sherlock's dick to stroke him when he drew back, and his right hand fondled and pulled Sherlock's balls.

Sherlock's legs shook and he planted his feet on the floor so he could thrust up. His head dropped back, mouth open as John pleasued him. _Oh God, so good_ , he mused, thoughts breaking down and disappearing to become a warm hum in the back of his head. Only John could really make his brain shut down; all he could think about now was John and pleasure and how _fucking good it felt to have John's gorgeous lips wrapped around his shaft._

John kept sucking and licking until Sherlock's cock was clean. When he drew back again Sherlock immediately sat up and wrapped both arms around the smaller man, making John yelp when he was pulled forward.

They sprawled across the floor together, John trying to get free and Sherlock wrapping both arms and legs around him. Cake was smeared all over John's chest and stomach, making him giggle as they rolled across the floor.

When they stopped fighting it was John on the floor, Sherlock hovering over him.

'Well, well, well,' Sherlock hummed. 'Look what we have here.' John raised an eyebrow. 'A sexy little doctor covered in cake.'

'I'm not little,' John huffed.

'Of course not,' Sherlock cooed while he shuffled back. He eyed John's throbbing erection, watching as a pearl of pre-ejaculate formed in the slit. He darted forward and licked it away, John moaning and pushing his arse off the floor.

'P-Please.'

'Look who's begging now,' Sherlock snickered.

'Talk later, suck now,' John ordered with a glare.

'Yes, Dr Watson,' Sherlock grinned.

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Shinju Tori_

_Put me in the pool for Mytsrade. I heard about it from those girls who deliver sandwhiches- they're insane, I swear._

  
  


He immediately licked up John's right thigh, and then the left one, before nuzzling his partner's cock and breathing in deeply.

'Mm, you smell divine,' he commented.

'Sherlock, _please_!'

'Patience, my dear,' Sherlock replied. He licked John's thighs again before kissing and sucking, leaving soft pink love-bites all over his partner's skin. John was achingly hard by the time Sherlock licked and suckled his balls, one hand pressing against his cake-covered stomach, his right fingers digging hard into the doctor's hip.

'Oh God, Sherlock, feels so good,' he moaned, head thrust back against the floor.

'Mm,' Sherlock murmured as he sucked a testicle into his mouth.

'Oh _God_!' John cried out. His hands latched onto Sherlock's hair and forced him closer, Sherlock smiling. 'Please, oh fuck, please!'

Deciding he'd teased his boyfriend enough, Sherlock pulled back and moved up. He licked up and down John's cock before sucking the head between his lips. He hummed, the vibrations going right through John's prick, and lapped at the pre-come now steadily oozing from the slit.

'Finally!' John practically shouted, making Sherlock chuckle. John ran his fingers over Sherlock's pale cheek and their equally lust-filled eyes met. 'Please?' John asked with a small pout.

_Damn it,_ Sherlock thought. _I can't win with that look; John's too devious_.

Really, Sherlock didn't have a choice; he immediately sank down, taking half of the doctor's prick into his mouth. John moaned, head dropping back, and Sherlock sucked hard.

'YES!'

Sherlock smiled, always glad to hear John during their romps. He did it again and John shuddered beneath him, twisting on the floor. Remembering that John had covered him in cake before sucking him off, Sherlock pulled back only long enough to collect a glop of icing from John's stomach.

He smeared it over the smaller man's shaft and went back to work, humming in delight when he tasted chocolate, strawberries and pre-come. When John's cock was clean Sherlock once again paused to cover the organ in more cake. And then he did it again and again, always using his fingers to stave off John's orgasm, the older man whining and whimpering beneath him.

'We should buy some type of sex food,' Sherlock said. He was breathing heavily, jaw aching and lips feeling swollen and bruised.

'Oh yeah,' John groaned from the floor. 'Like... chocolate paste or... strawberry...'

'Vanilla,' Sherlock hummed, just imagining painting John's entire body and then fucking him.

'Sherlock,' John whined, breaking the blue-eyed man from his musings. 'Please, need you to fuck me.'

'Really?'

'Fucking hell!' John shouted. 'Get your cock in me and then I'm fucking you into this fucking floor!'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Usually when they had sex it was one penetrating the other, or the two offering mutual blow jobs, hand jobs, or rubbing against each other. But Sherlock fucking John, then John fucking him...

'Oh, yes please,' Sherlock grinned, bouncing on his knees. 'Just a minute, let me get the lube and a wash cloth.'

  
  


_Text To: Martha Hudson_

_From: Jenna Atkinson_

_Why do you get all the interesting tenants? Not only are mine all boring university students who do nothing but drink and study, but yours solve crimes while also having sex wars! You lead the most interesting life, my dear._

_Well, put me in for Mystrade. A young girl who works at Speedey's was telling me all about the mysterious older brother of Sherlock Holmes, and I definitely think he'll win._

_Kisses -  Jenna  
_

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


'I'll be back in the country in March,' Adelaide informed Mycroft as she stood before his office door.

'We must have tea,' Mycroft said and Adelaide quickly agreed. She turned to her assistant, who was waiting by Anthea's desk, and had the date put into her calander.

'Well, Mycroft, it's been a delight,' the woman said as Mycroft walked her to the elevator. 'Take care of yourself and do say hello to Gregory for me.'

'Of course,' Mycroft nodded. He kissed her cheek and said, 'Give Thomas my regards.'

The woman smiled and waved as the elevator doors shut and Anthea immediately moved to her boss' side.

'Sir, we have a situation.'

Mycroft sighed. 'What is it?' he asked. 'World War III? North Korea? Sherlock?'

'The latter.'

'What's he done?' Mycroft groaned.

'He and Dr Watson entered your flat exactly thirty-two minutes ago,' Anthea informed him as they walked back to his office. 'I didn't want to inerrupt your meeting to inform you.'

'Damn it,' Mycroft cursed. He grabbed his jacket and tugged it on. 'Is Gregory busy?'

'No, sir, he just wrapped up a case and put in his paperwork ten minutes ago.'

'Good,' Mycroft scowled as he picked up his brolly and locked his office door. 'We have a genius to castrate.'

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Molly Hooper_

_From: JD Ednor_

_Hey, do you know how to get into contact with that bloke running the pool at Scotland Yard? Dimmock or something? I want to bet on Mystrade._

  
  


John's head thumped against the floorboards as he waited. After a few minutes he twisted sideways and grabbed a chunk of cake from the plate, munching on it and humming.

_Mycroft has good taste in dessert,_ he thought as he ate.

Sherlock returned a minute later with a wet wash cloth and a tube of lubricant. He quickly cleaned off his cock, not wanting John to get an infection because of the cake, before popping the lube cap.

He covered his cock and three fingers before he placed the lube on the floor, looking up at John. 'It's good cake, yes?'

'Mm, my regards to Mycroft,' John grinned.

Sherlock chuckled. 'Well he'll never eat cake again when he sees us.'

John raised an eyebrow as Sherlock shuffled between his legs. 'What do you mean "when he sees us"?'

'Well, he had a meeting today with his Australian counterpart and-'

'Australian counterpart?' John interrupted.

'Most countries have a Mycroft of their own, I suppose you could say,' Sherlock explained. 'People who do what Mycroft does but for Australia, China, Japan, Italy, etcetera. Of course they're nowhere near as smart as my brother, which is why they call Mycroft for help, but they do their jobs moderately well. Adelaide is Mycroft's Australian counterpart and they're good friends.

'Anyway, as I was saying...' He trailed off as he instered a lube-coated finger into John, the muscle expanding arond his digit and John moaning. 'Mycroft had a meeting with her that started about two hours ago. He'll be done by now and his PA would have informed him that we broke in.'

'Guh... c-can we please not talk about... y-your brother when... when...' he trailed off into a moan as Sherlock instered another finger, scissoring them slightly to work John open.

'Very well,' Sherlock said, eyes focused on John's hole. 'I was just saying that he and Gregory will be on their way here shortly.'

'Y-Yeah,' John grunted. 'So get on with it.'

Sherlock quickly fingered his boyfriend, withdrawing when John was open enough. He once again made sure his prick was slicked up before moving closer and nudging the crown against John's dilated entrance.

He pressed inside with one long, slick thrust, John's back arching off the floor, head moving from side to side as he was impaled on Sherlock's engorged cock.

'Oh yes! Yes, yes, fuck yes!' John babbled as Sherlock was fully encased in his heat.

'John,' Sherlock moaned, chin pressed to his chest. He'd never get tired of being inside his blogger and lover.

'Move!' John ordered.

Sherlock did as he was told.

  
  


_Text To: JD Ednor_

_From: Molly Hooper_

_Hi, JD. Yes, I've got his number, I'll text him for you :)_

  
  


Sherlock immediately drew out before thrusting back in, John clenching around his cock before relaxing. Sherlock grabbed his partner's legs and wrapped them around his waist before shuffling his knees and getting comfortable. He had to grab John's hips to pull him into each thrust, the angle meaning he couldn't fuck John as hard as he wanted.

John didn't seem to mind, though. He was lifting himself off the floor and rolling his lower half, taking each thrust Sherlock gave with a moan.

'Oh God, so good,' John grunted, feeling Sherlock's dick stretch and fill him.

'Fuck, you're amazing,' was Sherlock's comment as he snapped his hips. 'John, so amazing, so tight, a-ahh...'

'Uhh...' the older man moaned.

Their words became grunts and breathless whimpers as Sherlock moved steadily, sliding into John wetly with each thrust. John's head was tipped back, body arched, and legs sliding around Sherlock's waist as he tried to find purchase.

'Damn it,' Sherlock growled when he slid out yet again. 'Wait here.'

John whimpered and sat up when Sherlock disappeared. 'Where the fuck are you going?' he demanded.

'Just wait!' Sherlock called.

A few minutes later he re-appeared with a duvet and a heap of pillows.

'Up,' Sherlock said. John did as he was told and Sherlock laid the duvet down.

'Is that from-'

'Yes, their bed,' Sherlock confirmed.

John giggled, imagining the look of fury on Mycroft's face when he discovered them. It just turned him on that little bit more and he quickly laid back down when Sherlock directed him too. He now had two pillows under his head and one under his lower back, lifting his arse off the floor so Sherlock had easier access.

'Come here,' John asked as he grabbed another chunk of cake from the floor. 'I really hope Mycroft regularly cleans his floors.'

'Of course he does; he's Mycroft,' Sherlock tutted.

John smiled and smeared cake over his lips. Sherlock immediately crushed their mouths together, the kiss dirty, wet, and so goddamn hot. There was cake and icing, strawberries and each other, and the two moaned as they broke apart.

'Come on, fuck me!' John begged.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Molly Hooper_

_From: JD Ednor_

_Thank you :)_

  
  


'What the hell do you mean?' Greg demanded.

' _I mean exactly what I said; my brother and his boyfriend broke into our flat_.'

Greg groaned into the phone as he stood and cleaned his desk... well, he shoved papers into his drawers and snapped his laptop shut with a loud click.

'Fucking arseholes,' he grunted. 'This is for stealing John's fatigues, yeah?'

' _Yes_ ,' Mycroft said over the phone. ' _I'm on my way to the Yard now; be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. Who knows what Sherlock and John are doing_.'

Greg could only imagine and he sighed. 'Yeah, yeah, I'll be out front.'

' _Love you_ ,' Mycroft said.

'I love you too,' Greg replied. 'Even if your brother's a maniac.'

Mycroft chuckled before hanging up and Greg shouldered into his coat. He patted down his pockets to make sure he had his cigarettes before leaving.

'What's wrong?' Sally asked as Greg locked his office door.

'Fucking Sherlock,' Greg scowled.

'Ooh, is the sex war?' Sally grinned. Greg glared at her. 'Hey, you know I'm bettin' on you,' the woman shrugged. 'And everyone else at the Yard's bettin' on you too.'

'Fucking Sherlock,' Greg muttered again as he stormed away.

Sally shouted after him, 'Tell us what happens so we know who's in the lead!'

Greg flipped her off and stabbed at the elevator button.

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Molly Hooper_

_Hi, Michael, I hope you're well :) I've got another person for your pool thing. JD Ednor, a friend of mine, wants to bet on Mystrade._

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Sherlock dragged John across the hardwood floor and bent over him. The shorter man groaned as Sherlock's tongue licked from his nipple right up to his ear, warm lips sucking the lobe while Sherlock's cock thrust back in.

'Oh God,' John cried out. He couldn't believe how kinky his sex life had become. Before this whole war, he and Sherlock had had pretty vanilla sex. That had all changed since Mycroft said "horny".

_Not_ that John was complaining. How could he when he was covered in chocolate cake, Sherlock grunting into his ear as he licked it, thick cock stabbing at John's prostate as sweat and icing dripped down their over-heated bodies?

'Stop... thinking,' Sherlock grunted.

'S-S-Sorry,' John moaned in response, his nails digging into Sherlock's biceps. 'Just... feels... _so good_!'

Sherlock chuckled and rolled his hips, John groaning as he was filled yet again. 'God you feel good.'

'Y- _Yeah_ ,' John nodded. 'Just keep going, don't stop!'

'I don't plan to until it's your turn to fuck me,' Sherlock panted.

' _Aaaah_ ,' John moaned, clenching his muscles.

Sherlock's thrusts were becoming erratic the closer he got to his orgasm. John wasn't helping by squeezing around him and whimpering and generally... you know, being John. All too soon Sherlock had to pull out and John whined in annoyance.

'Fuck me,' Sherlock ordered, nudging the older man.

'Oh, right,' John said and wiped sweat from his eyes. He picked up the wash cloth Sherlock had grabbed earlier and cleaned his fingers and cock before grabbing the lube.

The two men changed positions, Sherlock now lying on the duvet with his hips elevated, John kneeling between his legs.

'No, no preperation,' Sherlock told the doctor. 'I want it rough.'

'If you say so,' John said. He wiped his fingers on the duvet and grabbed his cock, moving to Sherlock's entrance. He had to push hard to get through the genius' tight ring of muscles, but when he did both men were gasping and moaning. 'Fuck, you're tight.'

'Just f-for... you,' Sherlock moaned. 'John, please, more!'

John wasted no time; he pushed long, hard and fast into his boyfriend, the rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the spacious flat. Sherlock's panting moans and the slick wet sound of them fucking was enough to make John's blood boil, his skin feeling overheated and sticky.

Sherlock's arms flailed about before he reached out and ran his hand through the cake he could reach. He sat up slightly and roughly smeared the food over John's neck, the doctor moaning as Sherlock quickly attached his lips to the soft, hot skin.

'Shit, yes,' John swore as he tried to keep fucking his lover.

Sherlock's lips were sloppy at best and his teeth dug in harshly as he sucked cake from John's neck. His tongue sent shivers of pleasure down John's body, while his tight arse made heat pool in the older man's groin and steadily radiate out.

'I'm n-not gonna... last... much longer,' John panted, fingers digging hard into Sherlock's hips.

When Sherlock had finished cleaning John's neck- well, mostly cleaning- he drew back and kissed him passionately. 'Fuck me,' he begged. 'Please, John; as hard and fast as you want.'

'Get on all fours,' John ordered and pulled out.

  
  


_Text To: Molly Hooper_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_Hi, Molly :) Yeah, no worries, I'll let Sally know :)_

  
  


Sherlock hastily obliged, rolling onto his hands and knees and thrusting his arse back. John groaned and gave him a slap, making Sherlock wriggle again.

'You like that, huh?' John asked.

'Yes,' Sherlock murmured. He moaned loudly when John slapped him again. 'Fuck me, John, fuck me!'

John grabbed his cock again and spread Sherlock's cheeks with his free hand, watching as his hole dilated. _God, can anyone be any hotter?_ he thought as he pressed the crown of his dick against Sherlock's waiting entrance.

He forced himself in again and Sherlock cried out, the taller man pushing back to impale himself on John's shaft. His head dropped to press against the pillows and he hugged them tightly, his fingers digging into the slippery silk.

John lunged into his boyfriend like a man posessed, cock plunging into his aching arse over and over again. Sherlock cried out and pushed back, moaning incoherently into the pillows as his entire body shook with pleasure.

John panted and groaned, his orgasm fast approaching. Sherlock was just too tight, too warm, and the knowledge of where they were fucking- and that they were gonna get caught- was too great. John's balls slapped against Sherlock's arse, the slight sting adding evening more pleasure to his over-heated body.

'John, yes! Fuck, more!' Sherlock's cries came from before him. 'Harder, harder, _harder_!'

'Oh... God... yes... _ooohhh_...' was John's reply, each word punctuated by a hard thrust and loud grunt.

'M-My... c-cock...' Sherlock begged.

John's left hand dug into Sherlock's thight while he forced his right beneath the genius' body. He quickly located Sherlock's prick and wrapped his fingers around the throbbing flesh, pulling roughly.

'YES!' Sherlock cried out and bucked.

'Oh fuck,' John moaned.

'John, John, John,' Sherlock grunted as he was fucked, his cock pulled. 'I'm... I'm... _JOHN!_ '

Sherlock came with a loud cry, entire body shaking as he shot his load all over the duvet. His muscles immediately clamped down and John buried himself inside his partner one last time before coming with a hoarse shout.

He kept moving, though; hand softly pulling on Sherlock's cock to make his orgasm last as long as possible; hips nudging Sherlock's arse as the brunette's muscles milked his own climax.

The two were panting and sweating by the time they stopped, and John moaned before pulling out and flopping against his partner's back. Sherlock collapsed onto the duvet, taking John with him.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Molly Hooper_

_Thank you, Michael :) x_

  
  


'If those fuckers have touched anything of mine I'll kill them!' Greg announced as he jumped out of the car.

Mycroft just nodded and turned to face Anthea, who was still sitting in the car. 'Unless it's an emergency, I'm not to be disturbed.'

'Yes, sir,' Anthea answered. She watched as Mycroft and Greg both jogged into the building, their faces hardened by anger.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


John rolled onto his back and hummed while Sherlock reached for the cake. He dumped the lot on John's chest and smeared it up and down his neck and across his nipples.

'Whatchya doin'?' John asked, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

'Having dessert,' Sherlock said.

'I thought I was dessert?' John asked with a small pout.

Sherlock chuckled and kissed him quickly. 'Fine; after-dessert-dessert.'

John smiled and kissed him, their lips moving slowly and gently against each other. Both were feeling highly strung out; neither had ever had sex before where both partners penetrated each other.

'We should invest in a dildo,' John suddenly announced.

Sherlock pulled away, eyebrow raised.

'Well, I could fuck you while you fuck me with the dildo,' John explained. 'Or we could get one of those double-ended ones; they make those, right?'

Sherlock was silent all of four seconds before giggling. 'I've created a sex maniac.'

'Oh yeah,' John nodded in agreement.

They'd just kissed again when the front door slammed open and the couple pulled apart, turning to see an enraged Mycroft Holmes, Gregory Lestrade looking equally pissed behind him.

  
  


_Text To: Molly Hooper_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_No problem at all, it was great hearing from you :)_

  
  


'What the _fuck_ is going on here?' Greg shouted.

'What's it look like, Lestrade?' Sherlock countered lazily, his index finger dragging through the icing on John's chest. He picked up a strawberry and dropped it into his mouth, smiling when Greg's scowl darkened.

Mycroft took in the duvet- _from their bed_ \- as well as the pillows, the plate, the cake...

'You... it... oh God,' Greg groaned and slapped a hand over his face.

'Sherlock...' Mycroft began, glaring pointedly at his brother's face.

Sherlock grinned. 'Yes, brother dear?'

'You have _completely_ ruined cake for me!' Mycroft snarled.

Sherlock's grin widened and he leaned over to lick icing from John's cheek before nipping the older man's ear. John blushed and Mycroft made a soft noise of disgust in the back of his throat, while Greg rubbed his eyes and sighed.

'Oh, I know,' Sherlock hummed, turning to smirk at his brother.

'Payback's a bitch,' John added.

Greg groaned and Mycroft scowled.


	23. Jam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Well this is it; I've now posted all the chapters I've got so far on FF.Net. There will be a few more, I've got up to about 30 planned, but this is all I've written so far, so the updates will be less regular. Also, the wonderful and insane Lily Hooper belongs to **Sunshine Through The Storm**.
> 
> Enjoy,
> 
> {Dreamer}

_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Esther Richardson_

_Hey Sal, I called by earlier but you were out working that case Dimmock's tied up in. Put me in that pool; Mystrade. The younger Holmes and his doctor might be weird, but that guy really freaks me out. I think he'll win._

  
  


Mycroft was still in shock over the whole cake incident. Every time he and Greg ate out at a restaurant, the waiter or waitress would ask, 'And are you having dessert?'

Mycroft's smile would immediately slide away and he'd scowl. His answer was usually to ignore the person asking. Sometimes he ordered ice-cream. Greg, who still quite liked cake, didn't have the heart to eat it in front of his partner so would usually skip dessert too. Then he'd take Mycroft home and shag him into oblivion.

Greg would say before and he'd say it again; this war was _so_ getting out of hand. The Holmes brothers had ruined clothing, offices, cars, food, and a whole heap of other stuff Greg would rather not think about. What next? When would this war end?

True, Greg had had a fair bit of fun, both destroying things that belonged to Sherlock and John, _and_ having interesting sex with his very handsome partner. Before Mycroft he would have described his sex life as "vanilla" (he'd experimented a bit when he was younger, but that pretty much stopped after his marriage), and even after he and Mycroft got together the most adventurous things they'd done had been sex in the back of Mycroft's car, in Greg's office at Scotland Yard, and bringing flavoured lubes and sex paste into the bedroom.

And that was all fine; Greg liked- no, _loved_ \- all of that. He didn't need sex in the surgery John worked at, or sex in the middle of 221B with a violin bow, to have fun and enjoy himself. They could stop this madness now before anyone got hurt... or before anyone got a hold of John's gun and killed everyone else.

So Greg decided to have a chat with his partner about the whole sex war thing. He stubbed out his cigarette when one of Mycroft's black cars pulled up out the front of Scotland Yard and said a quick goodbye to Sally and Dimmock before walking across the footpath.

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: S Moffat_

_Mystrade_

  
  


The door opened when Greg was halfway to the car and Anthea- or whatever her name was- smiled at him when she lifted her eyes from her BlackBerry.

'Good evening, Detective Inspector,' the woman greeted him.

'You know, you _can_ call me Greg,' Greg said and grabbed the door.

'I have called you Gregory in the past,' Anthea nodded and slid aside to allow Greg into the car.

'Right,' Greg chuckled and slammed the door shut. He looked around and realised they were alone. 'Where's Mycroft?'

'He had business to attend to and will be meeting you at 221B,' Anthea explained.

'Why 221B?' Greg asked. Anthea just smiled and he sighed. 'Please, no; tell me he's not...'

'I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,' Anthea said, a smirk curling at her lips.

'Anthea, _please_ ,' Greg practically begged as the car pulled into traffic. The PA pulled her seat belt on and Greg copied her before saying, 'I was gonna talk to him about it; this has to stop.'

'What has to stop?' Anthea asked, head tilted and eyes wide with innocence.

Greg scowled. 'You know what.'

'No, I'm sure I don't.'

'Anthea-'

'My name is Gabbi today.'

  
  


_Text To: S Moffat_

_From: Mike Dimmock_

_Hey Steve, where have you been? Annie's asking for you down at the pub; I think she likes you ;) So you're in for Mystrade? Awesome, I'll put your name down. It's big bucks if we win :)_

  
  


Greg groaned and scrubbed at his face. 'Gabbi, whatever,' he growled. 'This has to stop before someone snaps and kills everyone else.'

'I'm sure that won't happen,' Anthea- Gabbi- commented.

Greg rolled his eyes. 'Oh, so _now_ you know what I'm talking about?' Anthea didn't say anything and Greg sighed again. He slouched back in his seat and stared out the window

After a few minutes of silence that was only broken by Anthea tapping at her BlackBerry, the PA said, 'I'm sure nobody will kill anybody else.'

Greg snorted. 'Yeah, right.'

'You're all very honourable men,' Anthea continued. 'And you're just having a bit of fun.'

'A bit of fun until I wake up to find John looming over me with a gun,' Greg muttered.

Anthea chuckled under her breath but Greg ignored her as they headed through the city towards 221B. Even though Greg _really_ wanted this war to end, he couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement go up his spine. He wondered what Mycroft had planned...

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: S Moffat_

_We'll definitely win; I've seen the older Holmes skulking around Scotland Yard like he owns the place. Tell Annie I said hello._

  
  


Mrs Hudson was out but Greg found the door of 221 open- no surprise there. Mycroft's car had disappeared as soon as Greg stepped out, taking Anthea with it, so Greg headed inside and up the stairs to 221B. He found that door open too- again, no surprise- and glanced around, looking for Mycroft.

He heard a kettle boiling and headed into the kitchen to find Mycroft pouring two cups of tea. He smiled at Greg, and Greg couldn't help but smile back.

'Hey there,' he said and walked across the tiled floor. He gave Mycroft a soft kiss and glanced down at the table.

All of Sherlock's usual crap- glass vials, petri dishes, bread with mould and microscopes- had been cleared away to places unknown. Instead the rectangular table had been covered with a crisp, clean sheet that was so white it threatened to hurt Greg's eyes. Sitting before two chairs were cups filled with tea, and in the middle of the table was an unopened jar of strawberry jam.

'Oh you evil, _evl_ man,' Greg grinned, quickly seeing where this was going. 'John _loves_ jam.'

'Exactly,' Mycroft smirked. 'I'm done playing nice.'

Greg chuckled. 'And playing nice is stealing John's fatigues? Or fucking in their bed? Or-'

'I get it, Gregory, there's no need to bring up every indiscretion,' Mycroft tisked. 'Just enjoy the jam, yes?'

'Mm, only if I get to suck it off your cock,' Greg leered.

Mycroft smirked again. 'That's the general idea, yes.'

Rather than get started right away, Mycroft took a seat and sipped his tea. Greg sat too, figuring there was no need to rush;iof Sherlock and John were due back soon, Mycroft would already be naked.

'How was your day?' Mycroft asked, like they were sitting in their own flat about to make dinner, rather than in Sherlock Holmes' flat getting ready to fuck against the kitchen table with jam.

'Not bad,' Greg said. 'Had a murder when I first got in- a young man killed by his drug dealer. But it was linked to two cases Dimmock's working and we had finger prints, so I let him go and arrest the guy. It didn't take long to finish my side of the paperwork, but Dimmock will be at the Yard all night finishing up.'

'Hmm,' Mycroft hummed, nodding along as he traced the top of his mug with one long, nimble finger. Greg gulped and grabbed his own cup, taking a careful swig of the hot liquid.

  
  


_Text To: S Moffat_

_From Mike Dimmock_

_Haha, he probably DOES own it; I wouldn't put it past him. You're gonna break that girl's heart, Stevie._

  
  


'How was your day?' Greg asked when he'd cleared his throat. 'You left before I got up.'

'Yes, well I had a few meetings with various politicians,' Mycroft said and lifted his mug again. Greg watched as his tongue darted out, wetting his lips slowly, and felt his cock twitch in his trousers as Mycroft took a slow, careful sip.

'So... nothing interesting to report?' Greg asked and had to cough to yet again clear his throat. Mycroft's bright blue eyes found his own dark brown and a smirk made his lips twitch. 'No wars?' Greg continued, eyes sliding down Mycroft's face- to his soft, pink lips- and further down, tracing his well-tailored suit, broad shoulders, long arms, delicate fingers...

Fingers that were practically _caressing_ his mug, making Greg's cock jump yet again and start to harden.

_Jesus_ , Greg groaned silently- though knowing Mycroft, he knew exactly what Greg was thinking- _Fingers shouldn't make me this hard_.

Then again, he knew what those fingers were capable of; what they felt like ghosting over his sweat-soaked skin, through his ruffled hair, down, down, down to wrap around his hard cock, slid into his welcoming body.

Greg gulped again, feeling like the lump in his throat would never go away. He hastily gulped down some more tea and didn't miss the way Mycroft's lips curled further into a smirk.

'No, nothing,' Mycroft purred- fucking _purred_. 'Just the usual; discussions, paperwork, plans, etcetera.

'Right, mm,' Greg nodded, not really sure what he was agreeing to. He felt hot and tugged at the collar of his shirt, despite the fact that it was open, and 221B was quite cool.

'Are you alright, Gregory?' Mycroft asked.

Greg's eyes flicked up to his boyfriend's. Though Mycroft sounded concerned, there was a glint in his eyes and he was still fucking smirking.

'Uh... yeah, fine,' Greg nodded and drank more tea. He and Mycroft hadn't had sex in a few days so it was perfectly reasonable to be turned on in the middle of a mate's flat while drinking tea, right?

'Are you sure?' Mycroft asked, leaning forward slightly. 'You look a bit flushed.

'Um... yeah, s'just warm in here,' Greg mumbled.

'Really?' Mycroft mused and leaned back. 'I find it a bit drafty myself.'

'Oh yeah?'

Mycroft nodded.

'Well, ya know...' Greg trailed off, having no idea what to say.

  
  


_Text To: Martha Hudson_

_From: Janelle Holland_

_Martha, I finally got a mobile! My daughter said I should "get with the times". At least now I can text you and the other girls :) I heard about the war your lodger has with his brother. Put me in for... Johnlock, is it? The one with Sherlock and that nice young doctor? I could use a few extra quid :)_

  
  


Mycroft chuckled and Greg rolled his eyes. The elder Holmes always liked these games; pretending everything was fine, normal, before he ripped Greg's clothes off and took him apart. Now that Greg thought about it, he quite liked it too.

'So...' Greg mused and Mycroft raised a rust-coloured eyebrow. 'Um...'

'Yes?'

'Well, um... I dunno,' Greg groaned.

Mycroft chuckled. 'Why start speaking if you have nothing to say?'

'I dunno,' Greg repeated with a shrug. He licked his lips when Mycroft once again played with his mug. 'I'm distracted.'

'Oh?' Mycroft said and Greg nodded. 'By what?'

'You know what,' Greg grumbled.

'I'm sure I don't.'

Greg rolled his eyes. 'You can be such a prat.' Mycroft chuckled again. 'And a tease,' Greg added.

'Yes, I can be,' Mycroft nodded in agreement. 'But I know you enjoy it, Gregory.'

'Do I?'

'Yes, you do.'

'Nope,' Greg shook his head. 'Annoys the fuck outta me, yeah.'

Mycroft smirked. 'If it annoyed you so much, Gregory, you'd stop me.'

'How am I supposed to stop you?' Greg demanded.

Mycroft took one last sip of his tea before putting it on the saucer. He slid the entire thing towards the jam, letting his fingers briefly ghost over the jar. Greg swallowed thickly as Mycroft leaned back, his chair scraping along the tiled floor.

He let his legs fall apart and Greg bit his bottom lip, watching as Mycroft's fitted trousers clung to his long, slim legs. His eyes drifted up, roaming over where Mycroft's jacket fell open, revealing his waistcoat, gold pocket watch, and light blue dress shirt with a darker tie.

Mycroft was clearly enjoying himself if the bulge in his crotch was anything to go by. Greg's teeth dug harder into his lip as Mycroft's long, elegant fingers tugged at the buttons of his waistcoat. When it was undone Mycroft leaned forward and slid from his jacket and waistcoat, his tie following and the lot draped over the chair beside him.

Mycroft's eyes were on Greg, but Greg was busy watching the sudden strip-tease. He might have actually whimpered when Mycroft undid his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

  
  


_Text To: Mike Dimmock_

_From: Taylar Watkins_

_Hey Mikey, put me in that pool you've got going at NSY; Johnlock._

  
  


_Oh God,_ the DI moaned silently. If there was one thing that got his blood boiling, it was Mycroft with his sleeves rolled up, the top few buttons of his expensive shirt undone to reveal his long, pale neck. He swallowed again, mouth feeling completely dry, as Mycroft slouched back in his seat, one arm on the table, the other draped over the back of his chair, and legs spread wide.

'Gregory...' Mycroft said slowly and tilted his head, not continuing until Greg had dragged his eyes up to the younger man's face, 'you can stop me whenever you want.'

'Why... why would I want to stop you?' Greg stuttered.

Mycroft smiled slyly. 'Exactly.'

'Right,' Greg gulped, 'right... um...'

'You're right,' Mycroft said suddenly.

'I am?'

The red-head nodded. 'It _is_ rather warm in here, isn't it?' he said and his fingers went to his belt.

Greg's eyes widened and he nodded quickly. 'Yeah, absolutely warm.'

Mycroft chuckled but tugged at his belt, the buckle clinking as it was undone. Slowly, Mycroft pulled the leather free and let it fall open as his nimble fingers went to the button of his trousers. He quickly popped it open and drew the zip down, giving Greg a flash of silk boxers that were bright blue.

Greg couldn't wait any longer and slid to his knees. Mycroft smiled as his boyfriend shuffled across the kitchen, shrugging his jacket off and letting it fall to the floor. Greg reached Mycroft and placed his hands on the taller man's thighs, feeling warmth radiate through the material of his trousers.

'So...' Greg hummed and rubbed up and down. He felt Mycroft tense beneath his palms. 'Jam, huh?'

Mycroft smirked and turned away, reaching across the table. When he leaned back he had the jar of jam in his hand and Greg grinned as he took it. It was a simple jar, wider at the bottom than the top, and had a silver top. The label on the front was in the shape of a strawberry and announced "Hartley's Best Strawberry Jam". Greg wasn't a big jam eater, but he'd seen the brand around.

He twisted the cap and it came off with a _pop_. Greg's nostrils were instantly filled with the sweet scent of strawberry jam. He licked his lips as he dropped the lid on the table and glanced up at Mycroft.

Mycroft was watching him with darkening blue eyes, his lips parted as his breathing picked up. Greg smiled slowly and stood.

'Where are you going?' Mycroft demanded.

'Washing my hands,' Greg said.

Mycroft sighed. ' _Now_ you decide to care about hygiene?'

'Hey, I'm not getting sick 'cause I didn't take four seconds to wash my hands,' Greg said. He eventually found the dishwashing liquid and squirted a small amount onto his hands. He quickly washed and soon Mycroft joined him, scowling. 'What?' Greg asked as they both washed and dried their hands.

'You've ruined the mood,' Mycroft muttered.

Greg grabbed him by the shirt and thrust him against the counter, Mycroft gasping as his arse connected with the wood. The sound was drowned out by Greg crushing their lips together, immediately prying Mycroft's apart and thrusting his tongue in.

Mycroft moaned and wrapped his arms around Greg's back, his hips coming forward to press against Greg's. The DI quickly but thoroughly explored Mycroft's mouth, his tongue fitting into every little corner and sliding against Mycroft's. When they broke apart both were flushed and breathing heavily, Mycroft's lips pink and glistening with saliva.

'Ruined the mood, have I?' Greg growled.

'Yes,' Mycroft said immediately.

Greg grinned. 'Sit down and shut up,' he ordered and dragged Mycroft back to the chair. He forced his partner down and Mycroft sat heavily, legs falling open, head tilted to watch Greg. Greg slid to his knees again and grabbed the jar of jam. He heard Mycroft's breathing hitch and grinned as he stuck his index and middle fingers right into the jam.

It was wet and slimy and Greg knew he'd never be able to eat jam again without getting a major hard-on. He slowly pulled his fingers from the jar, watching as jam slipped down his skin and plopped back in. His eyes flicked up to Mycroft, who was watching carefully, and he grinned before opening his mouth wide.

Greg shoved his fingers into his mouth and Mycroft jolted in his seat.

The flavour burst on Greg's tongue and he hummed as he licked at his digits, slowly dragging them back and forth between his lips. He watched Mycroft with hooded eyes, wanting to giggle when Mycroft sat forward, licking his own lips.

Greg sucked on his fingers wetly, making sure Mycroft heard every little noise, and when his fingers were clean he let them fall from his mouth with an obscene wet slide. He slowly pushed them back into the jar, getting more jam, before licking them like a lolly pop.

'Jesus,' Mycroft moaned and started palming himself, the sound of his hand sliding over the fabric of his trousers loud in Greg's ears.

'Mm?' Greg hummed.

'Don't stop,' Mycroft muttered, watching Greg's tongue lap at his red-coloured fingers.

'Oh, I don't plan to,' Greg grinned and tilted his head to get at the bottom of his fingers. 'You know, we should invest in strawberry flavoured paste or something,' Greg commented.

'Should we?'

Greg nodded. 'Can probably buy some at that sex shop we go to.'

Mycroft moaned again and Greg dunked his fingers back into the jam.

'Want some?' he asked, holding his fingers up to Mycroft. Mycroft immediately ducked forward and swallowed Greg's fingers down to the base, his tongue lashing at Greg's skin, throat working to suck up all the jam.

It was Greg's turn to groan and he felt his cock harden and twitch against his boxers and trousers. He shuffled further forward and leaned against one of Mycroft's legs as he grabbed at his partner's trousers.

Mycroft let Greg's fingers go, licking his lip as he did, and Greg didn't care about getting Mycroft's trousers or pants dirty as he ripped them both down. Mycroft's cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach, and Greg licked his lips hungrily.

'I'm done teasing,' Greg commented. 'You?'

'Oh yes,' Mycroft nodded quickly.

Greg grinned and grabbed Mycroft's cock with his left hand, Mycroft hissing and tilted his hips forward. Greg picked up the jam jar and handed it to Mycroft. 'Hold this for a second.' Mycroft did as he was told and watched as Greg scooped some jam up with three fingers. His hips jolted again when Greg let jam drip down onto his cock, using his fingers to spread it over the hard shaft. He licked his fingers clean before bending down to do the same to Mycroft's prick.

The first lick made Mycroft moan and let his head fall back. Greg held him down by his thighs as he moved forward and back, flattening his tongue and trying to gather up as much jam as he could. The strawberry flavour mixed with the salty taste of Mycroft's cock, and the man's natural musk filled Greg's nostrils and made his head spin. He wanted to bury his face in Mycroft's crotch and inhale deeply, but didn't fancy getting jam all over his face.

So he drew back, licking from root to tip, his tongue digging in to clear away the small bead of pre-come that had gathered. Mycroft hissed and his body moved under Greg's hands. Greg smirked up at him.

'Gregory, please,' Mycroft murmured.

'What do you want?' Greg asked, breathing heavily over Mycroft's twitching erection.

'Your mouth around my cock,' Mycroft answered immediately.

Greg grinned; he so did _love_ when Mycroft spoke dirty. And that was definitely dirty for Mycroft Holmes.

'If that's what you want, dear,' Greg commented. 'Personally I've always loved strawberries.' He ducked down before Mycroft could say any more and took the head of the red-head's dick into his mouth.

Mycroft whimpered and moaned as Greg sucked him down halfway, humming and sliding his tongue along the underside. The jam rolled over his tastebuds along with sweat and pre-come, and it was a heady mix. The jam reminded Greg of where he was, the sweat and come of _who_ he was doing this with. It made his cock ache and he palmed himself with his clean hand, rutting forward against his own hand as he moved up Mycroft's shaft.

He suckled on the head like it was a tasty treat- and it was, really- before going back down, taking more and more of Mycroft in.

Greg looked up as he bobbed up and down and met Mycroft's eyes with his own. Mycroft's were practically black and his head was hanging, lips parted as he moaned softly and breathed in and out deeply. He was still holding the jam with one hand and when Greg pulled off his cock with a loud _pop_ , he held it out immediately.

Greg laughed, his voice slightly husky as he said, 'Eager, aren't we?'

'Yes,' Mycroft said and nudged the jam in his direction. 'Get back to work, Detective Inspector.'

'Yes, Mr Holmes,' Greg grinned.

  
  


_Text To: Nicole Smith_

_From: Molly Hooper_

_I'm just texting to ask if you still wanted in the pool we were talking about at lunch the other day; the one between the Holmes brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft._

  
  


Greg dribbled more jam onto Mycroft's shaft and licked up the side, teeth grazing and lips applying pressure. Mycroft moaned loudly and dropped the jar onto the table with a loud clatter. One of his hands grabbed onto the back of Greg's head.

Fingers twisting through the short grey strands of Greg's hair, Mycroft nudged his boyfriend back towards the head of his cock. 'Gregory,' he whined.

Greg chuckled but popped his mouth back over Mycroft's cock, moving further down then before. He wrapped his right hand around the base and pulled when he dragged himself back, adding extra stimulation and making Mycroft moan, head falling back, hips thrusting forward.

Greg rubbed his free hand up and down Mycroft's thigh as he sank back down, hollowing his cheeks, letting the tip of Mycroft's dick poke into his throat. He once again drew back, sucking hard, and licked up the side before licking around the crown, dipping the tip of his tongue into the slit, cleaning away the steady stream of pre-come now oozing out.

_Fuck the jam_ , Greg thought when he tasted Mycroft. It was a far better treat than mushy fruit. He shoved his left hand into Mycroft's pants to squeeze and fondle his balls, his fingers tracing through Mycroft's ginger pubic hair and further back. He couldn't get at Mycroft's arse from this position, but he played with the skin he _could_ reach.

Mycroft grunted, 'Gregory,' under his breath and forced Greg's head further down, his hips lifting. Greg let himself be controlled, falling into the familiar rhythm of giving Mycroft a blow job. His own erection was absolutely _aching_ and it took all his willpower not to rut against one of Mycroft's legs like a horny dog.

_Although maybe Myc would like that,_ Greg mused. A sharp twist on his hair made him moan and jolt back to the present, and Mycroft hissed as he sank further down Greg's throat.

'That's it,' Mycroft moaned. 'Fuck, Gregory, suck my cock!'

' _Mm_ ,' Greg hummed around his mouthful.

Mycroft's hips pushed further forward in response, his nails digging into Greg's scalp, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he rocked forward and back in his chair. Greg steadied himself on the floor and relaxed his jaw, taking in as much of Mycroft's dick as he could.

Tears began leaking from the corners of Greg's eyes as Mycroft slammed into him, fast racing to completion. He nearly choked a few times from the added combinations of Mycroft's cock, saliva, jam, and pre-come, but he managed to swallow a few times, both clearing his mouth and stimulating Mycroft's shaft.

'Fuck,' Mycroft hissed loudly. 'Fuck, Greg! O-Oh... _God_!'

Greg squeezed and tugged Mycroft's balls, he swallowed and pressed his lips and tongue against Mycroft's over-heated skin, he pulled and stroked with his hand when Mycroft's cock left his mouth. He rocked back and forth, head bobbing, eyes sliding shut as he felt Mycroft tense before him.

'G-Greg!' was his only warning before Mycroft shoved him forward, his cock sliding down the DI's throat, and came violently. Stream after stream hit Greg's tongue and the back of his throat and the older man squeezed his eyes shut as he swallowed, trying to get it all down.

Before him Mycroft moaned, his fingers tightening briefly in Greg's hair before letting go. When he'd finally emptied himself down his partner's throat he slouched back, entire body shaking as he tried to catch his breath.

He fell from Greg's mouth with a slick wet sound, saliva connecting them, and Greg grinned as he rubbed his red, abused lips.

  
  


_Text To: Molly Hooper_

_From: Nicole Smith_

_Oh, yeah, I completely forgot about that :p Put me down for Mystrade x_

  
  


'Mm, I like strawberries,' Greg commented.

Mycroft chuckled tiredly. 'Yes, I've found them quite enjoyable.'

Greg placed both hands on Mycroft's thighs and stood, groaning as his legs protested against the sudden movement. Christ, he was getting old.

'You are not.'

Greg smiled. 'Stop reading my mind,' he said.

'Never,' Mycroft replied with a smile.

Greg laughed and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Mycroft's. They kissed softly until Mycroft got his breath back and stood, pushing Greg back by the hips. Greg's arse bumped into the table and he tore his lips away from Mycroft's.

'Myc?'

'Wait,' Mycroft said and tugged his pants and trousers back up, fixing himself up before turning his attention back to Greg. His long, nimble fingers- Jesus, Greg _really_ loved the genius' fingers- Mycroft tore Greg's own belt and trousers open, tugging them down until they fell around his ankles. 'Shoes off,' Mycroft ordered.

Greg quickly did as he was told, kicking his shoes and socks off. Mycroft pulled his trousers and boxers down and he was forced to sit on the table. Mycroft placed a large hand on his chest and pushed him back, making Greg lie on the table with his legs dangling off the edge.

'So, Mycroft, what are- _oh_!' Greg's question was cut off with a gasp as Mycroft's slick hand wrapped around his cock and pumped roughly. Greg moaned and tilted his head up see Mycroft, his hand covered in strawberry jam, jerking him off. 'Fuck,' he moaned, head thumping back against the table. 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jesus, _shit_!'

Mycroft chuckled above him. 'Enjoying yourself?' he asked and bent to pepper kisses along Greg's thighs.

'Ah-hmm,' Greg hummed and nodded.

'Good,' Mycroft said and his wet fingers trailed down Greg's cock and balls. He rubbed jam over his sack before moving up, spreading a trail through the light hairs that dusted Greg's belly. He circled Greg's bellybutton and the DI giggled, squirming atop the table. 'Stop moving,' Mycroft ordered.

'Never,' Greg replied.

Mycroft smiled and bent to lick a strip from Greg's bellybutton to the root of his cock, the tip of his tongue circling the organ slowly.

'Fuck,' Greg moaned. 'That's... n-nice...'

'Mm,' Mycroft hummed, blowing warm breath across Greg's dripping dick. He licked again, from Greg's cock to his bellybutton, going back and forth until all traces of delicious, sweet jam had disappeared. Greg's skin shone under the soft lighting and Mycroft couldn't help but suck a small love-bite into Greg's skin beside his bellybutton.

'M-Mycroft,' Greg warned and shifted about beneath the government worker.

'Hmm?' Mycroft asked without looking up. He was licking and sucking Mycroft's balls, making the DI moan. When he'd cleaned them he glanced up to see Greg sitting up, leaning on his elbows. 'What?'

'Stop fucking around and suck my cock!' Greg growled. He was too hot, too horny, to appreciate Mycroft's teasing. He wanted those sweet pink lips wrapped around his shaft; he wanted to sink into Mycroft's hot, wet mouth; he wanted to fuck Mycroft's face until he came.

Mycroft smiled and pressed his jam-covered hand to Greg's face. 'Clean this for me while I suck you off, will you?' he asked pleasantly.

Greg immediately sucked two of Mycroft's fingers into his mouth, humming as he flicked his tongue over the younger man's soft skin. At the same time Mycroft descended on Greg's prick, swallowing half down in one go.

  
  


_Text To: Nicole Smith_

_From: Molly Hooper_

_Not a problem :) x_

  
  


Greg moaned against Mycroft's fingers and fell back, head hitting the table with a _thud_. 'Jesus,' he groaned.

Mycroft wasted no time in sucking back _hard_ ; his tongue traced the large vein in Greg's cock, licked around the base, lapped at the steady stream of pre-come oozing from the head. He swallowed each time he bobbed down and eventually took Greg into the hilt, throat working to make Greg's entire body ache, tingle, _throb_.

Greg could do nothing but moan and curse, Mycroft keeping him pinned by the hips. He could feel his skin heating up, tingles of pleasure running up and down his spine, and jam being spread across one of his thighs and his shirt.

But he didn't care; he was too far gone. Mycroft was excellent, he knew just what to do; he knew to suck hard when he got to the tip, his lips pressed down hard, his tongue curling and flicking and licking; he knew how to fit Greg down his throat, breathing out heavily against Greg's crotch; he knew how to suck as he drew back, one hand finally letting Greg go to wrap around the base of his dick.

He tugged in time with his sucking, hand following his mouth as he drew back. His other hand rolled Greg's balls between his fingers, and Greg moaned, trying to thrust up. He had no leverage, though, not in this position, but that didn't stop him trying to force himself further and further down Mycroft's throat.

'Jesus,' Greg swore, head tilting from side to side. 'That's it, Mycroft! Fuck!'

Mycroft hummed and Greg's hips jolted, the table rocking and creaking beneath him.

'Oh God, so close,' Greg moaned. Mycroft tugged on his balls again. 'That's it,' Greg praised, 'fuck, Myc, you're _so_ good!'

Mycroft's hand disappeared from Greg's shaft and the DI felt both slide between his arse and the table as Mycroft moved. He pushed Greg's legs wider apart with his shoulders and hooked his hands under Greg's arse, squeezing each cheek as he pulled. Greg's lower half was lifted from the table and he tilted his head forward to watch his cock disappear between Mycroft's swollen lips.

'Fuck!' he shouted and wrapped one leg loosely around Mycroft's neck. 'Fuck, fuck, oh _Christ_!'

Mycroft hummed and sucked harder, head bobbing up and down, lips pressing against his shaft and cheeks hollowing. Greg could feel his orgasm building, slowly devouring his body whole. Christ, it had been too long since they'd had sex; he wasn't going to last.

'M-Mycroft!' he choked out. Mycroft sucked even harder. 'Oh God, love,' Greg groaned. 'I'm gonna... g-gonna... _Mycroft_!'

Greg came _hard_ , emptying himself into Mycroft's mouth, across his tongue, down his throat. Mycroft softly sucked on the end of his cock, tongue lashing out to lick him clean. Greg just shook, his fingers scraping along the table cloth, trying and failing to find purchase. Instead he just moaned and flopped back, feeling boneless as Mycroft finally lowered him to the table.

The jar had fallen over at some point and it's contents pooled across the table cloth, the red jam bright against the white fabric. Their tea cups were gone too, sitting on their sides, tea soaking into the cloth.

'Fuck,' Greg moaned, his legs falling over the edge of the table.

Mycroft chuckled and wiped at his lips. 'I trust you enjoyed yourself?'

'Mm,' Greg hummed lazily.

Mycroft smiled and leaned over Greg to kiss him softly. Greg gave him a goofy grin and Mycroft chuckled again before saying, 'Come on; up.'

Greg let himself be pulled up, groaning as he leaned heavily against his boyfriend. 'You sucked all my energy out,' he commented.

'What; through your cock?'

'Uh-huh,' Greg laughed. 'You're pretty good.'

'I aim to please,' Mycroft smirked and leaned over to kiss Greg again. They'd just broken apart when the door to 221B bounced open, revealing Sherlock and John.

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Lara Pond_

_I've finally decided; Johnlock, definitely Johnlock. There's no way Lestrade will beat Sherlock Holmes in ANYTHING._

  
  


Greg cursed and hoisted himself off the table. He was still covered in jam and he'd planted his elbow in the puddle on the table. Sherlock swore and turned his back, rubbing his eyes vigorously as Mycroft handed his boyfriend his clothes.

'Damn it, Mycroft,' Sherlock growled.

'How are you today, brother?' Mycroft asked pleasantly.

Sherlock scowled and only turned around when he heard Greg pull his boxers on. John hadn't moved; he was standing beside Sherlock, just outside the kitchen, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

Sherlock's eyes flicked from Greg to Mycroft to the puddle of jam and back all over again before he turned to John. 'John? Are you okay?'

Slowly, John blinked.

'John?' Sherlock questioned again.

John's mouth moved, but no words came out.

'Mycroft, you broke him!' Sherlock whined, rounding on his brother.

'I did not,' Mycroft tisked as he unrolled his sleeves. 'Just... leave him be for a minute.'

A minute later, John still hadn't said anything. But slowly he frowned, and then his eyes narrowed, and his fingers curled into fists.

'Er... John?' Greg questioned.

John opened his mouth.

And screamed.

'YOU FUCKING CUNTS! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU WITH MY BARE FUCKING HANDS!'

'See? He's perfectly healthy,' Mycroft said as Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, holding him back.

Sherlock scowled at his brother while trying to keep John from strangling them. Greg just grinned and tugged his trousers on.

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_Text From: Shelby Harris_

_Yes! Go Mystrade, go Mystrade, go Mystrade! Just got a text from Mrs H, Holmes and Watson's landlady. Something about jam and Mystrade being back in the lead. She was SO not happy about it. That's what you get for betting against the government! ;)_

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


DI Dimmock frowned as he stared at his phone. The number was saved in his phone as "Book-A-Licious" and he had absolutely no idea who that was. Who memorised phone numbers these days?

The person had texted him wanting to be put into the Holmes brothers' pool under Mystrade. But he couldn't go to Sally and say, 'Hey, "Book-A-Licious" is a Mystrader'. Sally would laugh him back to his office.

Sighing, Dimmock dropped his mobile and leaned back. He still had a mountain of paperwork to do. There were forensic reports to read over, witness statements to look through, and he was still waiting for Molly to text back saying she'd got his message about their date being cancelled.

Dimmock's mobile went off again, playing _Jesus of Suburbia_. Dimmock knew for sure he'd never had that song on his phone. Apparently whoever had nicked his phone had also put that song in. Groaning, he grabbed his mobile and entered the password before reading the message;

  
  


**DIMMO! THE DIMSTAR! DIM-A-LICIOUS! YOU PUT ME DOWN AS MYSTRADE YET?**

  
  


Dimmock scowled and dropped his mobile again. Maybe if he ignored them they'd go away.

No such luck. Four minutes later his mobile went off _again_ ;

  
  


**Now, now, Michael, there's no need to be rude. Put me down as Mystrade!**

  
  


Dimmock deleted the messages and grabbed his mug. Coffee. He needed coffee. He left his office, walked past various officers still hunched over their desks, and entered the break room. Two women were standing by the coffee machine, bent over something one of them was holding and giggling.

'Lily?' he said when he recognised Molly Hooper's fraternal twin sister, who worked at St Bart's with Molly.

Lily jumped and turned to grin at Dimmock, pushing her glasses up with one finger. 'Heya, Mike.'

Dimmock nodded and glanced at the other woman. She looked about the same age as Lily and had short hair dyed black and hazel eyes. She was holding a mobile in one hand and smiled broadly at Dimmock.

'Um...' the DI hummed.

'Sorry, this is Alex; Alex Schofield,' Lily said, gesturing at the woman. 'She's a journalist.'

'Nice to meet you,' Alex said, her accent Australian.

'She just moved here,' Lily continued, 'and I was showing her around.'

'Right,' Dimmock nodded. 'Well, ah, I need coffee, so...'

'Oh, yeah,' Lily said and shoved Alex aside. The two women bickered and slapped at each other as they moved out of the way, letting Dimmock make himself a cup of coffee. 'So...' Lily hummed, leaning against the counter. Alex had jumped to sit on it and was swinging her feet, her Chuck Taylors hitting the cabinets underneath with a dull _thud-thud-thud_. 'Whatchya doin'?' Lily asked.

'Working,' Dimmock said. 'I just closed a case with Lestrade's help and I'm finishing up paperwork.'

'How dull,' Alex commented.

'Mm,' Dimmock nodded.

'I love paperwork,' Lily grinned. 'Fillin' stuff out, writing, signing my name... writing.'

'You said writing twice,' Alex said and Lily rolled her eyes.

'Well I find it _doubly_ awesome, so I mentioned it twice,' the brunette said.

'Uh-huh,' Alex grinned and went back to her phone. Lily peered over her shoulder and Alex pointed at something on the screen that made both women giggle.

Dimmock ignored them; he'd never understand women. And he'd _never_ understand Lily Hooper; the girl was crazy.

'Anyway,' he said when he'd stirred sugar into his mug, 'I better get back.'

'Yup,' Lily grinned. 'Seeya later, Michael.'

'Nice meeting you, Mikey,' Alex said and Lily giggled.

'Right,' Dimmock nodded and headed back to his office. _Women_ , he thought with a snort. When he sat back behind his desk, sipping his coffee before setting it down, he noticed his mobile was glowing. He grabbed it and swiped at the screen, put the password in, and found that he had two new texts, both from "Book-A-Licious";

  
  


**Michael, I'm growing frustrated. Are you going to put me down as Mystrade or not?**

  
  


Dimmock rolled his eyes and moved to the next text;

  
  


**It was lovely meeting you, Mikey. Maybe now you'll add me to the pool? Oh, and blame Lily; she gave me your number. Aren't the new names just awesome? ;)**

  
  


Dimmock's eyes widened in surprise before he leapt to his feet and rushed from his office. He ran through the room, weaving past desks, and stopped near the elevators. Lily and Alex were just getting into one and Lily spotted Dimmock.

'Hooper!' he shouted.

'Bye, Michael!' Lily grinned and disappeared.

Dimmock ran after her, but by the time he got to the elevators Lily and Alex were gone. 'Damn it,' he groaned.

Lily was probably the one who'd changed the other numbers in his phone. Greg Lestrade had become "That Fit Guy At The Bar", and Anderson was "Dinosaur Jim-Jams". A dozen other numbers had been changed but Dimmock didn't know who they belonged to.

'Damn it,' the DI cursed again and trudged back to his office. He was going to have words with Lily Hooper when he finally caught her.

He sent one last text when he got back to his office before diving into his paperwork;

  
  


_Your sister's a lunatic._

  
  


He got a response from Molly about an hour later;

  
  


**I know, honey. By the way, I know for sure that Sally's number was changed to "Professor Fuzzy-Head Bumbledumb" and Lily is "Obi-Wan Kenobi". I don't know why, but Lily and Alex both find it hilarious. Love you and don't work too late. I'll put some soup in the microwave so you can heat it up when you get to mine xx**

  
  


Dimmock smiled.


	24. Pocketwatch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Sorry for the long wait! My muse gets distracted by shiny things, so I had to lure him back into his cage with promises of cupcakes and sprinkles. He has a thing for sprinkles lately. So I just wrote this about twenty minutes ago and that's my excuse for if it totally sucks. Hopefully it doesn't.
> 
> Anywho, enjoy!
> 
> {Dreamer}

_Text To: Lindsey Sullivan_

_From: Chloe Jade_

_OMFG IT'S TRUE! NEW SCOTLAND YARD REALLY STARTED A POOL ABOUT THAT CONSULTING DETECTIVE AND HIS BROTHER! I'm gonna go over there after my meeting at 3, want me to put a bet down for you?_

  
  


The pocketwatch looked absolutely delicious hanging around Sherlock's neck. The time piece itself was nestled between his shoulder blades, and John admired how it caught the soft light spilling through the door from the bathroom as he pulled Sherlock's arms further back.

It was a beautiful thing, John had to admit; both the watch and Sherlock himself. The watch was made of a hunter-case that popped open to show smooth, scratch-free glass that covered the face of the watch itself. The Roman numerals were done in black, the watch hands slim and the ticking audible even over Sherlock's soft gasps.

The case was completely gold and shined to perfection, showing patterns that had been etched into both the lid and back. The chain matched and glinted whenever Sherlock shifted at the the right angle, and John often found himself staring at it a bit, just like the first time he'd ever set eyes on it. Of course, back then it had been hanging from Mycroft's waistcoat, and _not_ wrapped around the younger Holmes' neck.

John had come home from a late shift at the surgery- and he was seriously considering quitting, what with all the cases they had coming in and the never ending questions about his sex life- to find Sherlock kneeling in the middle of their bed, completely naked, except for a time-piece hanging from his throat and cuffs wrapped around his wrists.

John had been out of his clothes and on the bed faster than he could blink.

And now he was just sitting and enjoying the moment, letting his fingers ghost over Sherlock's pale flesh, only occasionally scraping his nails hard enough for Sherlock to moan and wriggle about. He'd only spoken one word since John had entered the room; “please”.

Sherlock's hands were bound behind his back by leather cuffs they'd bought a few weeks previously. Stolen police cuffs were good and all, but they were hell on the wrists and could cause a fair few injuries; the thick leather bands held together by a small chain were much better. John could pull harder, for one thing, and the way Sherlock's back arched, his head too, made John want to sink his teeth into the closest part he could.

But he paced himself by holding the chain tightly, ensuring that Sherlock couldn't squirm about too much. John pulled back slowly until Sherlock's head was resting against his shoulder and breathed in deeply as he nuzzled Sherlock's warm neck. John could smell sweat and soap, as well as the faintest hint of tobacco; Sherlock must have found his stash of cigarettes.

Ignoring his boyfriend's smoking habit for now, John licked a strip from Sherlock's collarbone, up his neck and across his Adam's apple, and along his jaw to his ear, where he bit the lobe between his teeth and dragged back. Sherlock shivered bodily against him and let out a breathy moan. His eyes were squeezed shut, fluttering behind his lids, and his hair was already sticking in sweaty curls to his forehead. His prick, which John was ignoring, was blood red and bobbing obscenely between his legs, the tip wet with pre-come.

John wondered just how long Sherlock had waited; if he'd fingered himself open with the bottle of lubricant sitting on the bedside table; if he'd wrapped his hand around himself and jacked off until he was close to coming; if he'd locked himself up and just kneeled, waiting, getting off on the thought of what John would do to him when he got home.

'Have you been naughty?' John hummed in Sherlock's ear.

  
  


_Text To: Chloe Jade_

_From: Lindsey Sullivan_

_Shit, no way! Are you serious? Is this what cops these days get paid to do? Bet on some type of creepy sex war?_

  
  


John tugged on the cuffs before dragging his free fingers down the wet strip he'd left on Sherlock's neck. He traced the chain of the pocketwatch, still wrapped firmly around Sherlock's throat, and tugged on that too. It had a little give and he hooked a finger under the gold, pulling again when Sherlock failed to answer.

'Uh...' Sherlock moaned and turned to face John as best he could. His breath blew across John's cheek as he said, 'What do you constitute as “naughty”?'

John chuckled soundlessly and fingered the chain as he spoke. 'Well... I see a bottle of lube,' he murmured. 'Did you use any of it?' Sherlock shook his head. 'Mm,' John licked his boyfriend's neck again before whispering in his ear, 'I'll have to check myself, won't I?'

He pushed Sherlock forward suddenly, but grabbed his shoulders firmly to keep Sherlock from falling face-first onto the bed. He still did, but lightly, and turned his head slowly as John worked behind him. John pulled Sherlock's legs apart inch by inch until his gorgeous arse was on display, and reached up to make sure the face of Mycroft's pocketwatch was still sitting on Sherlock's back.

'Let's see,' John hummed and leaned forward to peel Sherlock's cheeks apart.

The genius moaned as John blew across his small puckered entrance, and he shuffled on his knees a bit when John's index finger toyed with his hole.

He was dry, telling John he hadn't fingered himself open. John wet his lips and ducked down to lick across Sherlock's hole, enjoying the jolt of Sherlock's hips, and the surprised grunt that fell from his lips. He licked and suckled until drool was dripping down Sherlock's arse, the genius' hips thrusting into nothing as he tried to get friction against his cock, and more of John's tongue against his arse.

'Steady,' John murmured and rubbed Sherlock's thighs, his hips. Sherlock was being amazingly quiet, and John assumed that it was one of his “danger nights”; Sherlock's brain needed to shut up, and John was Sherlock's drug of choice. Well... John was completely okay with that.

  
  


_Text To: Lindsey Sullivan_

_From: Chloe Jade_

_Don't be a party-pooper. Are you in or out? The choices are Johnlock or Mystrade or a tie._

  
  


He dove back in, shoving his tongue as far as he could into Sherlock's hole. He smiled slightly as, slowly but surely, Sherlock's muscles opened up under the onslaught. He was whimpering into one of the pillows, his fingers digging into his palms behind his back, and John rubbed his back soothingly as he continued to tongue Sherlock open.

John reached blindly for the lube as he pulled his tongue out, only to lick up and down Sherlock's crack. He nibbled and bit along Sherlock's right cheek, loving the soft flesh beneath his lips and between his teeth, as well as the grunts and louder moans the actions pulled from Sherlock.

With practised ease, John slicked up three of the fingers on his left hand and gave one last thrust with his tongue before pulling back. Before Sherlock could whine, John had slid his index finger in. It drew a hiss from both of them and Sherlock's muscles clamped around the intrusion, dragging along John's skin as the shorter man pulled out, only to push back in.

Sherlock began rocking against John's first finger, then his second and third, his moans getting louder and louder as the minutes passed. John could do nothing but watch, mesmerised by the effortless way Sherlock's body accepted his fingers. No matter how many times they did this- and no matter how loud, or soft, or loving or rough it was- John got the same thrill, the same electric shiver down his spine. Sherlock was _his_.

John finally pulled his fingers free and Sherlock whined when they weren't immediately replaced with John's cock. But John had other plans and his slick fingers tugged at the buckles of the leather cuffs keeping Sherlock's arms behind his back.

Sherlock moaned when he was freed and immediately rolled over, raising an eyebrow. 'What are you doing?' he demanded, even as he laid flat on his back and let his legs fall open.

'You tease,' John growled. He dropped the cuffs and leapt forward, crushing his mouth against Sherlock's. He twisted his dry hand through Sherlock's curls, tugging sharply until Sherlock arched beneath him, a moan dripping from the genius' lips only to be swallowed by John's.

When John finally let him go Sherlock was panting and his lips were pink and puffy. A flush had worked it's way up his face, and down his neck and chest. John traced one finger along Sherlock's collarbone before pinching first one nipple, then the other, enjoying the hiss of pleasure/pain Sherlock gave.

'I want you watching me as I fuck you,' John stated simply. If Sherlock needed to escape his manic brain, then making him focus on John was the best possible thing to do.

Sherlock just nodded, only wincing slightly when John forced the younger man's arms above his neck. He fiddled with the chain still around Sherlock's neck and eventually got it loose. Sherlock watched as John looped the chain around his wrists, not stopping until the watch-face dangled between them.

  
  


_Text To: Chloe Jade_

_From: Lindsey Sullivan_

_Fine, fine. Put me down for Johnlock. That's the one with Sherlock Holmes, right?_

  
  


'Much better,' John said and offered Sherlock a grin. 'Do you think I can fuck you without you breaking the chain?'

Sherlock smirked and shrugged one shoulder. He rested his arms against the headboard and said, 'We'll have to see, won't we?'

John laughed and grabbed the lube, pouring a descent amount onto his palm. He warmed the gel between his hands and made a show of slicking himself up; he tugged loosely at his cock with one hand, his balls with another, and bit his lip as he held back a moan and closed his eyes. He sped up his left hand only slightly, making sure to rub the gel all over his aching erection. He shuffled between Sherlock's legs as he did, and almost immediately Sherlock's thighs were wrapped around him, locking John in place.

'Impatient,' John murmured and peeled one eye open as he squeezed the head of his cock.

Sherlock whimpered, watching pre-come dribble from the slit of John's dick. 'Hurry up,' he moaned and thrust his head back, his hips up, his thighs squeezing more firmly than before.

Finally John could take no more and he wiped his hands on the sheets- he'd have to wash them anyway- before grabbing Sherlock's hip with one hand and moving forward. He curled his fingers around his cock and nudged the tip against Sherlock's stretched entrance, his eyes completely trained on the part where his and Sherlock's bodies met.

He went slowly, methodically, causing Sherlock to be torn between whimpering in pleasure and groaning in frustration. If Sherlock had wanted a hard fuck- truly wanted one- he would have just jumped John when he got home. He wouldn't have been waiting, his hands cuffed, for John to do whatever he fancied.

So John rocked in and out slowly, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out. The doctor paused to breathe deeply, trying not to just start fucking Sherlock like a man possessed. He didn't move until Sherlock started whimpering again and dug his heels into John's arse.

John established a slow, easy rhythm at first, only pulling half his cock out before slipping back in. Sherlock's muscles clenched around him every third or so thrust, and Sherlock soon became impatient; he squeezed his muscles tightly and pushed up, trying to drag John deeper in. When John's hips faltered Sherlock's legs tightened around him and the brunet leaned up as best he could.

'Fuck me!' he hissed.

  
  


_Text To: Lindsey Sullivan_

_From: Chloe Jade_

_YES, that's who I'm going for! Okay, I'll head over after my meeting tomorrow. Talk soon xx_

  
  


John groaned and shook his head. 'Wanna make it last,' he bit out.

Sherlock growled and somehow managed to get his teeth into John's bottom lip. He bit harshly, making John yelp and thrust into his boyfriend's body _hard_. His cock hit Sherlock's prostate and the consulting detective dropped back with a rough moan.

'More,' he ordered. 'Please, John! Fuck me!'

John looked down at his partner; at his bright pink face and chest, at his already sweat-slicked neck, at the love-bite John had left just above his collarbone. Sherlock's prick was leaking copiously against his stomach, and John growled.

' _Fine_.'

Sherlock opened his eyes just in time to see John pull out almost all the way before jamming himself back in. His yelp turned into a moan, then another, as John pounded into him. Sherlock's hands smacked against the headboard, and the pocketwatch swung wildly as Sherlock's body was pushed deeply into the mattress again and again. Sherlock felt wonderfully full and his muscles burned as John's cock stretched him, slamming against his prostate again and again and again.

'Fuck, John!' he cried out when John's arms lifted his legs until they were hooked over the smaller man's shoulders. He bent Sherlock nearly in two, opening Sherlock up and letting himself slide deeper and deeper in.

Sherlock tossed his head back and moaned almost constantly, mostly curses with John's name choked out in-between. John panted heavily above him, his balls slapping against Sherlock's arse, and he only stopped once- which made Sherlock swear that he'd murder him- to apply more lube before fucking right back into Sherlock's body.

John could feel his balls drawing up, and his orgasm was rushing towards him. Fuck Sherlock and his fucking need to be... well, fucked. John cursed and dropped one of Sherlock's legs so he could wrap his hand around the genius' cock.

Sherlock jolted and moaned. He opened his leg wider to give John more access, and rolled his hips up as best he could. 'Yes, John,' he grunted as the slick sound of John jerking him off filled their ears. 'Harder!' he begged.

John did just that; the bed shook with their fucking, the sounds of sex shooting straight to John's cock, and Sherlock's muscles fluttered and grew tighter and tighter the harder John slammed into him. Too soon, in John's opinion, Sherlock climaxed between them, ropes of come landing messily over his stomach and John's hand.

John managed a few more thrusts before coming himself, his hips bumping against Sherlock's arse as the brunet's muscles milked his cock, his hand doing the same to Sherlock's own erection.

  
  


_Text To: Lily “Sunshine” Hooper_

_From: Emerald Westings_

_Fine, you talked me into it; put me down for Mystrade. And stop changing your contact name! I had no idea who “Queen Sugarplum of the BBC” was until Alex texted me!_

  
  


Suddenly Sherlock's leg fell from John's shoulder and he groaned, shuddering when John drew the last drip of semen from his length. John removed his hand slowly and reached for the tissues, wanting clean up before he passed out.

Because he was definitely going to; he felt all gooey and dopey, in the way that only fantastic sex could make you feel, and he knew that as soon as he laid down and rested his aching legs and shoulder he'd more or less pass out.

He mopped up the mess on Sherlock's stomach, and the come dribbling from his arse, as best he could before flopping onto his back. There was silence until Sherlock cleared his throat and said, rather hoarsely, 'Can you free my hands?'

John peeled one eye open and smirked at him. 'Can't do it yourself, Mr Consulting Detective?'

Sherlock cursed and John chuckled. In less than twenty seconds Sherlock had dropped the pocketwatch onto John's chest and curled around him, their legs tangled together, the duvet nice and cold beneath them.

  
  


_Text To: The Shiny Emerald Westings_

_From: Lily “Sunshine” Hooper_

_Aww, you know you love it ;) I'll let Molly know you're in._

  
  


'You know, even after all the crap he's done, I kind of feel bad for Mycroft,' John murmured.

'Mm?' Sherlock hummed against his neck. 'Why is that?'

'Well, he always wears this pocketwatch,' John said. 'It must be important to him.' Sherlock snorted and the doctor sighed. 'Alright, Mr Know-It-All; what'd I get wrong?'

'This isn't the pocketwatch Mycroft always wears,' Sherlock informed him. 'That one has an engraving on the back: “ _For MH, with all my love, GL_ ”. _That_ pocketwatch is one that Lestrade bought for my brother on their one-year anniversary.'

'Right...' John mused. 'So what's this one, then?' he asked and fingered the chain.

'It was our father's,' Sherlock informed him. 'It was left to Mycroft in Father's will. Mycroft has always hated the thing; it brings back memories of missed birthdays, ignored conversations, and resentment. Neither of us were close to our father, and Mycroft only took the pocketwatch when Mummy insisted. He keeps it in his bedroom, locked in a box.'

'So... he won't care, then?' John asked.

'He _will_ care that I stole something of his and used it as bondage during sex,' Sherlock smirked. 'But no, it won't hurt too badly.' Sherlock shifted about until he was leaning on one elbow and looking down at John. 'Not even I'm cruel enough to take something that my brother loves with all his heart. I would never ruin the pocketwatch Gregory bought him; Mycroft cherishes it.'

John blinked slowly at him, and Sherlock didn't move until the older man had nodded. John wrapped an arm around his boyfriend and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's mop of sweaty curls. He _knew_ that Mycroft and Sherlock loved each other, but it was still nice to see evidence every now and then.

'He'll still be annoyed, though?' John prompted, and Sherlock nodded against his chest.

'But of course,' he smirked; John could tell. 'No doubt he'll break in sometime this week for revenge.'

John sighed and closed his eyes. 'This sex war will be the death of me.'

'We have to win, John,' Sherlock stated.

John shook his head, murmured, 'Whatever,' and let himself sink into the sheets. He'd worry about Mycroft's revenge when he wasn't wiped out from a lovely round of sex.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Text To: Sally Donovan_

_From: Deb Roberts_

_I've decided I'll go for Johnlock. Lestrade's nice and all, but Sherlock Holmes is... well, weird. And his doctor is, too. They'll definitely win._

  
  


Mycroft pressed his palms together and rested his fingers against his chin, tapping his index fingers together beneath his nose as he stared at the wooden box. Sherlock had once again broken into his flat- and Mycroft was going to have a serious talk with his security detail when he was done- and had stolen their father's pocketwatch.

Not that Mycroft cared, in all honesty. He detested the thing. It was the _principle_ of the thing that mattered to Mycroft. Also, the flecks of white that had crusted between the lid and watch-face was something Mycroft could have lived without seeing.

He could only imagine what his little brother had got up to with his favourite doctor (multiple times, Mycroft could tell), and it was enough to have the elder Holmes wrinkling his nose and shaking his head to clear the images away. A nice tumbler of scotch would go done nicely right about now, but he was meeting Gregory for dinner and didn't want to end up drunk and bemoaning his baby brother all night long.

So instead he rolled his head, shut the box with a sharp _snap_ , and pushed the thing across the wooden table. He'd have Anthea clean it tomorrow. Despite how much Mycroft hated the pocketwatch- and the memories the time-piece always invoked- he didn't have the heart to toss the thing away. Mummy would no doubt find out and be heart-broken.

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes before going to the fridge. Maybe water would help calm him down.

  
  


_Text To: Deb Roberts_

_From: Sally Donovan_

_There are way too many of you Johnlockers. Mystrade will win. British Government, Deb! But, fine; if you wanna lose money, be my guest :)_

  
  


As Mycroft sipped from his bottle, his mind started forming a revenge plan; he wouldn't let Sherlock get away with using _anything_ he owned in some weird sex game with John Watson.

Mycroft smiled as an image of Gregory, hands tied above his head, swam into his mind... there was a certain piece of blue fabric he could use to restrain his partner.


End file.
